


Making Change

by theresalwaysaway



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Africa, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fitz is a math teacher, Friends to Lovers, Peace Corps AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theresalwaysaway/pseuds/theresalwaysaway
Summary: Leo Fitz takes time off after finishing his PhD to volunteer as a math teacher in rural Uganda. It's filled with challenges and struggles, but meeting fellow volunteer Jemma Simmons is the best thing that has ever happened to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grapehyasynth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/gifts).



> VFA (Volunteers for Africa) is a fictional organization loosely based on the Peace Corps concept.

“Hey! Come back with my camera!” Fitz stumbled after the vervet monkey but the combined weight of all his worldly possessions slowed him considerably. Disengaging himself from his bags he was able to catch up to it but that just prompted the monkey to scamper ahead farther. 

As he ran, he felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him. The townspeople from the little village to which he was assigned by Volunteers for Africa started chuckling and murmuring. 

“My first hour, no—my first minute here and already I’ve made a great first impression,” he thought to himself. 

He’d be in this village in rural Uganda for a year teaching their students math and would like to appear at least somewhat competent. Unlike back home in Scotland, the academic year began in February and ended in December, but otherwise the educational system was surprisingly similar. He hoped that little bit of similarity would help ease his transition into this otherwise unfamiliar landscape. And running after a camera stolen by a monkey was definitely unfamiliar.

Fitz eventually gave up the pursuit and the monkey also stopped running, holding out the camera in front of his face. Fitz slowly approached and then heard a clicking sound. The monkey was taking selfies! 

A striking young woman dressed all in black, with long black hair, began giving it commands. It chirped before scampering up the side of a vegetable kiosk and onto its thatched roof, leaving the camera behind. 

Hesitantly, Fitz picked up the camera and waved at her in thanks. She was very different from the typical Ugandan woman who normally dressed in brightly colored clothing and kept their hair closely cropped. 

The town’s center was at the intersection of two dirt roads lined with shops and houses. He knew the school must be close based on his arrival packet but couldn’t see anything resembling a school at the moment. As Fitz gathered his things, a man wearing a suit and tie despite the heat approached him from the crowd. The locals who gathered around to see the new volunteer gave him space. 

“Leopold Fitz?”

“Yes, just Fitz, sir.” Fitz said automatically.

“My name is Glenn Talbot, the headmaster at the school. Welcome to our operation.” He offered his hand which Fitz shook despite the weight of his gear.

“Weebale,” Fitz replied. It meant ‘thank you’ in Luganda, the local language. His three months of language training had given him that much.

Mr. Talbot acknowledged the remark with a tilt of his head. “Thank you for your service. Let me show you to your quarters.”

The entire cohort followed them down a dirt path toward the place he would call home for the next year. It was a small white concrete building which housed exactly two rooms. The headmaster opened the red steel door. To the right there was a large room which he guessed was his bedroom. Across from the tiny entryway was a smaller room with a door for privacy. Mr. Talbot motioned to it and said, “For bathing”. 

_BYOB_ , Fitz thought. _Bring your own bucket._ The larger room had a window and it came equipped with a bed but no other furniture. In a corner was a box of random stuff he guessed was left by his predecessor. Looking around, he said, “Thank you”. _It looks adequate,_ he thought to himself. “It looks comfortable,” he said politely.

The headmaster pointed to the two five-gallon plastic yellow water jugs in the bathing room. “You have water. When you need more text this number. He’s paid by the school to do the job. Don’t let him ask you for money.” 

“Thank you,” Fitz repeated, and winced at how dumb he must sound. 

“You unpack and someone will come for you when it is time for dinner,” Mr. Talbot said as he made for the door, intent on letting the newest recruit get settled. 

“Thank you again,” Fitz said sincerely as Mr. Talbot left the humble quarters. 

The crowd had left as well, already having witnessed the excitement of the annual “arrival of the volunteer”. To no one in particular, Fitz announced, “Here we are onsite in Uganda. So this is home. I did get to see a monkey today. What I don’t see is a sink.” 

As he worked unpacking and getting settled, he imagined ways he might manage to rig up a sink or even shower in the small bathing room. As he unpacked his razor, shaving mirror, and soap, he thought back to Volunteers for Africa’s presentation on campus. When they made the desperate appeal for math teachers in Uganda, Fitz was skeptical but gave them his attention. Uganda, a former British protectorate, used English as its official language. That was a plus.

Fellow students warned against joining Volunteers for Africa otherwise known as VFA. 

“You’ll miss your friends and family”, they said. 

At University of Glasgow, he had never really made friends being so much younger than his peers. At home it was just he and his mum, his dad having abandoned them long ago. And his mum encouraged him saying that she had secretly wanted to go when he was his age.

“You’ll be poor,” they said. 

He was poor growing up, yet he and his mum did all right. Once he latched onto the idea that he could make a difference teaching math during the day and then go home to a pet monkey, he couldn’t let it go. 

Fitz pushed those thoughts aside and really looked around for the first time. The room itself was a nice size for a bedroom, but it would have to serve as living room and kitchen as well. There was no table but there was an electrical outlet. _Praise the cosmos._ After filling his filtered water bottle provided to him by VFA, he set about investigating what kind of things the previous volunteer had left behind. It wasn’t much, plastic bowls, string, solar charger, a coffee mug, and a swath of brightly patterned cloth which he carefully laid on his bed. Not one to waste resources, he turned the box upside down to make himself a table to arrange the items on. That done, he settled onto his bed and called his mum eager to get a taste of home.

Fitz had done all he could for the time being in the way of organizing his room and still the headmaster had not sent for him. Sitting on his bed, he opened up his engineering notebook to draw a quick sketch of a portable shower he might be able to rig up in the bathing area. 

Without so much as a knock, his door opened and started Fitz from his work. His visitor was an older man in torn clothing speaking the native language rather quickly, so fast that Fitz struggled to keep up as he was still mastering it. 

Fitz reached out his hand to greet the man who called himself ‘Musa’. They managed to communicate with scraps of Luganda and hand gestures. Fitz soon realized that the man was not here to take him to dinner but was trying to communicate something else. 

He kept using the words “tata wanga” and pointing to himself. Fitz remembered the phrase meant “father”. VFA emphasized “integration” and here was a chance to integrate with the people, so Fitz agreed saying “tata wanga” and smiled half-heartedly. Musa seemed very pleased and pointed at Fitz’s shirt saying he liked it. 

“Weebale,” replied Fitz. It was his favorite shirt from home, an orange, brown and white checkered pattern.

Then Musa said, in Luganda, “Give to me.” 

When Fitz balked, Musa became indignant. “Tata Wanga!” he exclaimed, as if to say because he was Fitz’s “father”, Fitz should gift it to him. 

The VFA policy on giving gifts to locals was clear as far as people begging for money: We give knowledge, not money. But what about other gifts? 

_This is not going well,_ Fitz thought as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He had only packed so many shirts.

Fortuitously, a local woman wearing an apron saw Musa through the open door and started scolding him in Luganda and chased him away. Then she addressed Fitz in perfect English, “So Sorry, Mr. Fitz. I am Irene, Mr. Talbot instructed me to fetch you. Come to dinner, sir.” 

If he was relieved that dinnertime had come, he was equally relieved to be back in his room once it was done. Even in English, he had trouble communicating! Flinging the door open and locking it behind him. He threw the textbook on the box causing it to collapse, everything landing on the floor in a heap. 

_Perfect, that’s just perfect._ The monkey had tried to steal his camera. His new “father” was a selfish jerk (just like at home). At dinner, he could barely make himself be understood with his accent. The headmaster probably wondered what he had gotten himself into. Coming here had been a huge mistake. Should he try to get out of his contract? 

He flopped down on his bed and stared up at the mosquito netting hanging overhead as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He hadn’t even remembered to pack tissues. 

All he wanted to do was sleep and hope things would be better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! I hope to post every day or every other day until it's done. Many thanks to my beta, @agl03!


	2. Chapter 2

Things did look better the next morning, a good night’s sleep and cup of tea doing wonders for Fitz’s morale. 

The sun was up, the weather was fine, and the power was functional. He still had two weeks before classes to peruse the textbook for the class he’d be teaching. Secondary four (or S4) was the fourth year of secondary school (akin to tenth grade in the US). At the end of the year, just like at home in Scotland, all S4 students took exams equivalent to O-levels. 

He himself had taken that exam while still a primary student but that was beside the point. It had seemed fun at the time, but the hazards of being the smartest and smallest boy in subsequent years had taken its toll. And that was another reason he was here. What if some diamond-in-the-rough was just waiting to be uncovered? He would try to stick it out. For him. Or her.

Reading through the textbook, it seemed very reminiscent of the book he used as a boy, but even older. The few illustrations it contained were of factories, trains and banks, things not found in the Ugandan countryside. He turned to the front few pages to see the book’s origin, wondering if it was indeed Scottish. He was shocked to find an official imprint of Craigie High School, his father’s school, on one of the early pages. It dropped from his hands onto the floor. The text must have been donated to one of the larger cities years ago, finally reaching the little village decades after it had been printed. There must be something newer available. One more suitable for students in Uganda, not Scotland. One that didn’t haunt him with painful memories. His father had left them; Fitz had left the country; could he not escape him even here? 

He preferred to address the problem before the start of the term so later that morning, he went to see the headmaster who was also prepping for the new year in his office.

“Excuse me, Mr. Talbot,” he said with a gentle wrap at the man’s door.

“Ah, Mr. Fitz. It was terrific having you over for dinner last night.” Glenn Talbot rose and offered his hand. 

“Thank you, sir,” Fitz said and awkwardly shook hands with him while wondering if he remembered the same meal.

“Sit down. What can I do for you?” Mr. Talbot said motioning to a worn chair in front of his desk.

“It’s about the textbook,” Fitz began as they both took a seat. 

“Is there a problem?”

“Are there any other textbooks besides this one?” Fitz asked holding up the outdated text.

“That is the only textbook for secondary four math. If you want to look at earlier grades, you can check with the other math teachers.” 

Fitz was taken aback when he realized this was literally the only copy of the book available. “What will the students use?”

“That’s it. The students will take notes on what you teach.”

“Oh,” Fitz replied tapping the book absently.

“It’s important you use that text. It will prepare them for the national examination at the end of the year.”

“Of course.” He paused but couldn’t think of anything to add. “I see. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Would you like to see your classroom?” Mr. Talbot offered.

Fitz agreed readily wanting to see what other resources he would have at his disposal. The classroom was simple, a green chalkboard filled the wall in front, while a row of barred windows let light in through the back. There didn’t appear to be any electric lighting or outlet. It was nearly devoid of furniture, with very fews desks and no shelves or storage of any kind. Mr. Talbot frowned. “Both your sections of S4 will have approximately 60 students.” 

Fitz’s eyebrows went up. _Sixty?_

“We’ll need to find you some desks. Ready to do a little heavy lifting?” After a few hours of marshaling the requisite furniture, he went back to his room to research possible alternatives to the textbook. If students were going to sit through his class, it had better be worth their time. And his.

Until he found a suitable alternative, he would just have to use the ancient textbook, even if it turned his stomach. 

The first week, he hardly felt like he was teaching at all. Some days, he would go to school early and cover the entire chalkboard with a section of the book, which the students would then dutifully copy into their notebooks. The only homework he could assign was “Read your notebooks.” He didn’t wonder if some were falling through the cracks, he knew they were. There had to be a better way.

With his rudimentary skills in the local language, he was able to barter the piece of cloth and the charger for a table which became his kitchen. The box was repurposed as a dresser drawer of sorts to store clothes under his bed. He figured out a way to attach the string to the concrete walls which was handy for his shaving mirror. Thankfully, the outdoor latrine was far enough away from the house that he didn’t smell it. 

Next on his agenda was to find a way to construct a shower in the room set aside for bathing. He didn’t think he would ever get used to bathing by just dumping water over his head. Next time he went to the capital city, he would have to pick up a plastic container that he could poke holes into. And some plastic tubing. Did they have that in this country? What he wouldn’t give for a hardware store.

Halfway through of the second week of classes, Fitz discovered where the monkey lived. One of his students told him it lived at the orphanage conveniently located next to the school. That made sense. He had often seen it on the grounds of the school and had even tried to feed it bits of food. Despite their shaky start, maybe he could make friends with it. After school he made his way to the compound and knocked on the door. 

A man dressed in black trousers and a blue and white checkered shirt answered the door. His beard was short and well-trimmed. “You must be the new math teacher! I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Leo Fitz, but I just go by Fitz,” Fitz greeted, blushing slightly.

“Andrew Garner, welcome to House of Hope. Call me Andrew.” He led Fitz into a common area with scattered hard backed chairs and a few square tables. Abundant light bounced off the white walls from windows high overhead. Looking up, he could see inspirational quotes printed directly on the walls and a second level balcony along the back. Mr. Garner pointed in the direction of the balcony. “Boy’s room. Directly below them is the girls room.” Pointing to the right of the front door, he continued. “Through there is a kitchen, that door leads to a bathing area, and finally that side door goes to a courtyard that leads to the soccer field. Most of the kids are there now.”

“How many do you have?”

“25. They range in age from of 7 to 17. I was an orphan myself, so I know what they are going through. When I bought this place people thought I was crazy, it was too big for a single man, but I made it known that if there were children who weren’t being cared for, I would take them.” He started heading for the side door that led outdoors. “I believe a couple of your students live here. Did you want to talk to them?”

Fitz held up his hand and smiled. “No, actually, I’m trying to track down a little monkey that’s been rumored to live in these parts.”

“Ah, our most popular orphan. Probably with Daisy.” 

They peeked into the girl’s dormitory to see the monkey climbing up and down the two rows of bunk beds. Daisy, one of his students in his afternoon class, was lying on one of the beds but was so absorbed in her book “The Little Princess”, she didn’t acknowledge them. 

Andrew said wistfully, “She’s read that book a hundred times. Wish we had more available for her.”

“It’s great that you have this place for people to go if they lose their parents.”

“Many of these children have living parents. Daisy was dropped off on my doorstep as an infant; does she have parents somewhere? Maybe. Many of them have one parent who just cannot take care of them for whatever reason, but here they are fed and given school supplies; we don’t turn anyone away.” 

As they spoke, the monkey came over to inspect Fitz. “Even monkeys. Fernando came the same week as Daisy.”

Just then there was a boy yelling Andrew’s name outside on the street. Andrew spoke to the boy in Luganda while Fitz placed a peanut on the floor in front of Fernando, which was promptly gobbled up. 

When Andrew returned, he said cheerfully, “The Medical Bus is here.”

“Medical bus?” asked Fitz.

“It’s a traveling clinic. They stop here for a day or so and then move on. For some, it’s the only doctor they will ever see. I’ll introduce you to Mack and Jemma, if we get to them before the line gets too long.”

When they got to the center of town, he noticed what looked like a large white delivery van with one of its side doors open. Fitz was no longer the odd foreigner and a fair-skinned women wearing a lab coat, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail was instead the center of attention. Children clamored for her attention until she spoke to them in what sounded to Fitz like perfect Luganda. Apparently they listened to her instructions because they returned to stand with the adults who had formed a line.

Andrew called out, “Jemma!” 

The woman looked up and waved. “Andrew!”

Andrew introduced the two volunteers to each other.

“A fellow Brit!” Fitz exclaimed as he shook her hand.

“You’re from Scotland! My goodness. It’s a pleasure. What brings you to Uganda?”

“I teach secondary maths.” He gestures in the direction of the school.

Andrew said, “You usually arrive in the morning, Jemma. Was there a problem?” 

She shrugged. “There’s always a problem. This time it’s a flat tire. Mack’s trying to find a back up right now.” She squinted in the distance at the huge hulk of a man carrying the truck tire like it was made of feathers. “Can we bunk with you at the orphanage overnight?”

“Of course. Room for one more is our motto.”

Andrew invited Fitz to stop by the orphanage after dinner before excusing himself. Fitz, reluctant to leave his newfound acquaintance, offered, “Anything I can do to make myself useful?”

Jemma, busy laying supplies on the table outside the Bus, frowned and then brightened, having thought of something. “How are you at jokes?”

“Terrible, why?”

She pursed her lips. “I was hoping you could distract the kids who are scared of needles. If they have a friendly face to look at, they do much better.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Especially the older ones who pretend they aren’t scared but really are.”

“How do you feel about Pi?”

“Pie? I love pie, but that’s hardly-”

“No, the number Pi, the ratio of the-”

“I know what Pi is, but how on earth will that distract someone getting vaccinated?”

“I can recite Pi to 35 digits.”

Jemma was impressed. “It might work on the older children. But just make funny faces to the little ones.”

“Will do.”

The next two hours flew swiftly by for Fitz until the light began to fade.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that evening, Fitz and Jemma sat at one of the tables in the common area of the orphanage drinking tea. Andrew and Mack were chatting in another part of the house while 25 children were in various stages of getting ready for bed.

“Most of the time, you didn’t even get through your 35 digits of Pi!” declared Jemma.

“I know! You were very efficient. Thanks for letting me help you in a completely needle-free way. I really enjoyed it. I can definitely say that is not something I would’ve even thought to do back home in Scotland.”

“I’m all about adventure and new experiences!”

“But surely you must miss things about home.”

“You know what I miss the most?” Jemma said after she took a sip of her tea.

“Tea,” replied Fitz. 

“No!” Jemma raised her eyebrows and held up her cup. “The local product is surprisingly good. And cost effective. When you can find it.”

“What then?”

“The sun.”

“I’m _pretty_ sure the British Isles and Sub-Saharan Africa get the same number of hours of sunlight. One could even argue—”

“—that we get more sun here, yes, because it’s more direct. But the long days of summer! There’s something about a 4:30 am sunrise. And of course we have the opposite in winter, curling up next to a fire with hot chocolate. I get tired of the eternal sameness here. The sun comes up and twelve hours later, it’s gone. Every single day. The long twilight, the constant change. That’s what I miss.”

“I can’t say I miss anything like that. My mum.” _Beer, salty snacks, indoor plumbing._

“My parents weren’t too happy when I signed up, but they’ve known this was something I’ve wanted to do it ever since I was a little girl. I guess they figured I’d change my mind once I...” Jemma put her cup down and leaned closer to Fitz. “I don’t tell many people this. But I’ve got my PhD already.”

Fitz was speechless. 

“Biochemistry.” She continued, sounding more authoritative, “Optimization of immunoassays found in MBI in-vitro diagnostic solutions.” She sat back in her chair and looked up toward the ceiling. “I know, so pretentious, right?” 

“No! It’s just that—me, too!”

“ _You_ have your PhD, too? In what?” Jemma’s mouth dropped open.

“Mechanical Engineering. My dissertation was on heat dissipation in microscale hybrid drone engines.” 

Jemma put her left hand up to cover her mouth as she half gasped and half laughed. Then she put up her right hand and they high-fived each other. 

“They said Uganda would surprise me but nothing could have prepared me for this.” She stared right at Fitz and started to laugh. “What are we doing here?”

“I have no idea.” Fitz tried to take another sip of tea but had forgotten there was none left in his cup. 

“Research lab work is what I’ll do after I get back, maybe something in infections diseases. I just knew if I didn’t get out now, it’s very likely I wouldn’t at all. I’ve always wanted to travel and help people. I’m not a doctor—”

“Oh, but you are,” Fitz broke in with a grin.

“Not that kind of doctor, but they let me do vaccinations, infant checkups, basic first aid.”

Fitz spotted the monkey in the corner eating a tiny banana. “Do you like monkeys?”

“Do I like monkeys?” Jemma turned her head so she could see what Fitz was looking at.

“I also came for the monkeys. I’m going on a tour in a few weeks. I’ve always wanted to see a capuchin in the wild.” They watched the monkey take the banana peel and place it in the rubbish bin. “I don’t tell many people this, but I’ve always secretly wanted a monkey assistant.”

“I have a love hate relationship with monkeys. On the one hand, they are very clever and could probably be very handy on the Bus. On the other hand, they are very clever and could probably get into all kinds of mischief.”

“That one made off with my camera my first day here and proceeded to take a selfie!” 

“Oh, do you have pictures?”

Andrew and Mack came back into the common area.

“The camera is at my house. Which I should probably be getting back to. Next time?” Fitz stood up.

Jemma also stood. “Definitely. What did you think of the tea?”

“I still prefer the tea I brought from Scotland,” he whispered. He didn’t want to offend his host.

“Oh, what kind?” 

“Scottish Breakfast, of course.”

“I still have some Twinings. Trade you?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s been so good talking with another expat.”

“It’s been good being understood. You know, the accent.”

Andrew, Mack, Fitz and Jemma all said their goodbyes and Fitz walked back past the school and down to his house with a skip in his step. It was good to make friends. _Maybe coming here hadn’t been a huge mistake._

The next day he kicked himself about a million times that he hadn’t gotten her phone number or email or anything. Once school let out, he scampered down the hill, grabbed a few bags of tea and wrote on a piece of notebook paper in very small yet readable block letters:  
_Leo Fitz, engineer, passable maths instructor, tea supplier_ followed by his phone number and email. He tore it out of the notebook and ran out the door.

Rushing back to the Bus, Fitz saw a dusty Jemma Simmons carefully putting drops in the eyes of a little girl. Some of her hair had fallen out of her ponytail. When she turned and saw Fitz, she put the errant hair behind her ear and gave him a big smile. Fitz waited until she was finished and handed her the paper and tea. “My card. If you need tech support or anything.” 

“Thanks, Fitz. Oh, and you brought the tea!” She read the label. “Very nice.”

Mack emerged from the interior of the Bus. “We’re ready to head out whenever you are. If we leave now, we’ll make it back home before dark.” 

“Just a minute.” Jemma jotted something down on a scrap of paper and turning to Fitz, handed it to him. “It was supposed to be just a day trip, but because of the delay, I’ve made a new friend!”

It said:  
_Jemma Simmons, biochemist, sunrise enthusiast, purveyor of tea_  
And there was her phone number and email.

* * *

From: justfitz@gmail.com  
To: jsimmons1987@gmail.com

Hi Jemma,  
It was nice to meet you. How are you? Hope the line at the clinic wasn’t too long today. I don’t find the local tea as strong as the stuff from home. Is that your experience?  
-Fitz

From: jsimmons1987@gmail.com  
To: justfitz@gmail.com

Hi Fitz,  
The line was completely manageable today. Thanks for inquiring. The tea you gave me kept me up all night though, nothing is as strong as the Scottish blends. The good thing is I can probably get two or three pots with each one.  
-Jemma

From: justfitz@gmail.com  
To: jsimmons1987@gmail.com

I’m dreadfully sorry to have been the cause of a sleepless night! Please accept my apologies! Goodness knows there is enough to keep one awake as a VFA. (Hint: a feral dog barked at random intervals last night.) 

I’m going on a wildlife tour this Saturday. I think we pass through your city. I will wave vigorously!

-Fitz  
From: justfitz@gmail.com  
To: jsimmons1987@gmail.com

Yes, I confirmed with the tour company. We will actually begin the tour from your city. Will you be in the vicinity or off on a medical safari?  
-Fitz

From: jsimmons1987@gmail.com  
To: justfitz@gmail.com

Fitz,  
We do not go on medical “safaris” as you call them. They are highly professional expeditions where we provide the utmost care to our patients. I’m only teasing (as I assume you were). 

I will not be out on a community visit tomorrow so if you have time, text me when you get here. It will be lovely to see you again.

-Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll be ready to post over the weekend. Hopefully by Monday!


	4. Chapter 4

It was a sodden, grumpy—no, _miserable_ —Fitz who found himself listening to the relentless rain pounding on the roof of the tour van after a fruitless morning trying to find monkeys. Technically, the rainy season didn’t start for another week. Maybe a little passing shower was to be expected, but nobody had predicted a massive storm system complete with hail! When the tour guide cut short the excursion due to the bad conditions, Fitz did not take it well. Uganda had disappointed him. _What was the point of travelling to exotic locations if you can’t take advantage of them?_

When the van dropped them off at the stop, Fitz’s mood lifted. Maybe Jemma could keep him company while he waited for the bus to take him back to his own village. The only drawback was it was still raining. 

He texted Jemma. _I’m at the corner of Main and Palm. Near the brick building with the clay tile roof._

His phone buzzed immediately as she called him instead of texting back. “Hello?” 

“Fitz? Are you here already?” She sounded surprised.

“Yes. At the bus stop in the center of town. Our tour ended early. I hope I’m not bothering you.” 

“Oh, no! Not at all,” Jemma insisted, but then she expressed concern. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.” Fitz rested his back against the trunk of a palm tree, but it didn’t provide much cover when the wind picked up. 

“Stay put,” Jemma instructed. “I’ll come and fetch you. You can find shelter under the porch in front of a little grocery shop painted orange. Do you see it?”

“Thanks.” Fitz started moving toward it.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes. Oh, and Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“All the roofs are made of clay tile,” Jemma informed him, clearly amused.

“Not unique, eh?” He looked around before he sat down heavily on the porch. “Wait, I see one that’s made of corrugated tin.”

Jemma laughed. “I’ll be right over.” 

Her laughter perked up him up considerably. His day was looking better and better. 

By the time he spotted Jemma turning the corner and coming up the block toward him, it had stopped raining, so he was able to meet her halfway. She was smiling, and even if the sun stayed behind the clouds, his day just brightened.

“Did you see any monkeys?”

“No monkeys,” he sighed. “No refund, either. First time in five years.” 

They began walking together back down the street from which she had come. “And still the only pictures of monkeys I have were taken by said monkey.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’ll just have to try again.” 

“Yeah.” He adjusted his backpack and camera bag over his shoulder. He had enough money for two, maybe three more trips. It wasn’t the end of the world.

“This way,” said Jemma, pointing around a corner. “We can sit inside at the clinic. The non-mobile one.” 

As they headed down the muddy red dirt road, they passed a group of men going in the other direction. One of them recognized Jemma, looked at Fitz and said something to her in Luganda. Fitz understood two words: foreigner and boyfriend. 

Jemma looped her arm around his and kept walking without looking back. “He thinks you’re my boyfriend,” she explained. “As a single young woman it was easier and safer to say I had one back home.” When they arrived at the clinic, she released his arm. 

Fitz wasn’t used to much physical contact beyond hugs from his mum and professional handshakes from co-workers. Jemma’s touch seemed to catalyze something within him and he suddenly felt very protective of her.

The clinic was a concrete block structure situated between a cell phone kiosk and a fruit seller. It was a single story building with the words Community Health Centre in white lettering on the side, the sky blue paint on its walls peeling from years in the sun.

Jemma led him through a waiting area with two wooden benches and a few chairs before taking him down the hall. As they passed an office, she introduced Fitz to Bridget, a staff member who had come in on a Saturday to order supplies. 

Jemma moved them on into the next room down the hall. “This is the pharmacy.” It wasn’t much more than a couple of cabinets. “It’s small but our inventory doesn’t usually stay long. Our biggest problem is keeping the refrigerator on. We have a generator just in case. Next door to this is the storeroom.”

Fitz shuddered and was glad to be moving on after catching sight of the needles and other medical instruments it held. 

They walked back out into the hall and pointing to the door on the opposite side, she continued, “And there’s the lab, my favorite spot. We do quite a bit of testing for HIV and Hepatitis, among other things. We’d like to do more HIV prevention education, but with so few of us and little finances to spare, it’s difficult.”

Fitz just nodded and followed Jemma down the hall. There was a wooden door on the left and a big green curtain on the right. 

Pointing to the door, she said, “On the left is an exam room.” 

Then she pulled on the curtain to reveal a primitive operating room. 

“Our mission is to just to handle routine medical needs, but emergencies do happen. We try to stabilize them as much as possible and send them to the hospital in the next city. Just last week a baby was delivered here.” Jemma let out a happy sigh. “Those times are so exhilarating. It keeps me coming back for more.” 

As they retraced their steps, she said, “It’s not a very sizable place, but we hope we’re making an impact.”

“You must be. I am surprised how many different services this place offers.” Fitz was looking at such a list hanging in the waiting area. “I don’t want to keep you from your job,” he said, sad the tour and their time seemed to be coming to an end. He had truly enjoyed her company but didn’t want to keep her from her important work.

“Oh, that’s all right. It’s a Saturday. Did you have lunch yet?”

“No, but I do have a lunch, if you’d care to share.” He reached into his backpack and brought out a paper bag with two sandwiches and a package of biscuits from his mom’s latest care package. He noted Jemma’s eyes resting on the items and he smiled.

“Is that peanut butter and jelly?” Jemma said. “I can’t remember the last time I had peanut butter. But let’s share mine too.” She led the way to the small kitchenette near the front of the clinic and she poured them each a cup of filtered water while Fitz settled down at an old table.

“Show me the monkey selfies,” Jemma said eagerly as she sat down. 

“Oh, yeah.” Fitz dug out his camera and flipped to the first image. The monkey from the orphanage was showing all his teeth. He let Jemma flip through the rest, enjoying the delight on her face at each one. “First day. That seems like a long time ago.” 

Once she’d finished, he put the camera back in his backpack and brought out his lunch. Jemma retrieved her lunch of two hard boiled eggs and an avocado from the fridge.

“Scotland to Uganda. You’re a long way from home,” said Jemma, her hands folded on the table in front of her.

“I’m still adjusting to the time difference,” said Fitz, handing her a sandwich. 

Jemma looked confused. It was only two hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time. “Really?” She took a bite savoring the taste.

“It’s,” he began, glancing at his watch, “10:15 back home, and it’s 1956 here.” He gestured around with his free hand at the distinct lack of modern comforts he’d grown up with, and then took a bite of sandwich.

Jemma chuckled and handed him one of the eggs, adding, “ _18_ 56 in some places.” 

“With cell phones,” Fitz said, his mouth full of food.

“Who said there’s no time travel?”

“Anyway, “ Fitz continued, “my mum always wanted to do the whole VFA thing. She was beyond thrilled when I signed up, which surprised me.” He adopted a bit of a falsetto tone, the better to indicate he was quoting his mother. “‘It’s the perfect opportunity to see another part of the world. You are young and sturdy. You should go.’” He shrugged and took another bite of sandwich. “So I went.”

“Just like that.” She struck her egg on the table and began to peel it.

“I told everyone I wanted to see monkeys. But truthfully, the jobs back home didn’t appeal to me. Everyone wanted me to work on improving existing products, not inventing new ones. The idea of teaching a few maths classes and going home to a pet monkey. Well…” He shrugged again. 

He had also deeply resented fellow grad student Grant Ward scoffing, “Great idea, Fitz. You’re the perfect candidate! You can’t control your own feet. How are you going to control a bunch of bratty kids? Also, wiggly bugs!” Ward’s words had only stiffened his spine. Fitz became quiet at the memory. 

“Is there something else?” 

“Nothing, just a wanker back at uni. Probably just wanted to prove him wrong.” Fitz busied himself peeling his egg.

“Oh, I’m very familiar with the wankers of the world.”

“Yeah, those guys. They bother you?” Fitz took a bite of egg, humming his contentment.

“That’s why I had to come up with a fake boyfriend.” Jemma swept the eggshells into her hand and disposed of them. “Otherwise it’s the endless refrain of ‘Why aren’t you married?’”

“Yeah, I get that, too.”

“You do?” She laughed. “Everyone has the perfect match for me. They don’t know I’m married to my work.” She picked up the avocado and looked around for a knife to cut it. “Do you want some?” 

“Sure.” He put his elbow on the table and propped his head up with his hand. Watching Jemma cut the avocado into two precise halves, he smiled. “For the record, I don’t mind.” 

“What?”

“Them thinking I’m your boyfriend. Will it help?” 

“It couldn’t hurt. I don’t like lying, but they won’t believe the truth.” She handed him half an avocado and a spoon.

He sat back in his chair and scooped out the flesh. “Thanks. I’m happy to play along, if you need me to.”

“I really appreciate it, Fitz. I owe you a beer.” She seemed to remember something. “I also owe you some tea.”

The bus would come before tea time and Jemma suggested that he call the next day at tea time and he could tell her how he liked the tea she had given him. He presented her with the package of biscuits and told her to do the same. In the meantime, Fitz offered to look at the generator to see if he couldn’t improve its efficiency.

Neither the smells nor the cramped conditions on the bus bothered him on the trip home. Even though he didn’t accomplish what he initially set out to do, Fitz found himself quite satisfied with the day.


	5. Chapter 5

It was well past tea time by the time Fitz finally sat his steaming cup next to his phone which was on speaker.

“Sorry it took so long. I had a devil of a time getting my stove lit.” He sat down with a soft grunt and took a sip. “Oh, that’s really good tea.”

The mini stove looked like an oversized coffee can with a place to put charcoal in the bottom and a cooking ring on top. 

“You’re quite welcome. I’m glad you like it,” said Jemma. “The things we take for granted back home are a luxury here, don’t you think? What time did the bus finally get you back home?”

“Almost ten. I should’ve taken the moto taxi when I could. But it was also nice to chat with you while we waited for the bus. Did you try the biscuits yet?” 

VFA’s policy that volunteers were not allowed to drive made getting around a challenge. Bus transportation in Uganda was supposed to run on a published schedule, but it was often delayed. Motorcycle taxis were a faster means of transport in that they would take customers directly to their destination without making stops, but they appeared somewhat randomly.

“They were marvelous, thank you. Oh, and when I stopped in at the clinic today the power flickered once, but I didn’t even notice the generator starting up because it was so quiet. What a difference! Why didn’t you volunteer as an engineer?”

“I didn’t know I could do that. They really needed teachers, so that’s what I signed up for. They accepted me, but whether I’m qualified or not is debatable.”

“On the slip of paper you handed me, which I have here, you called yourself a ‘passable maths teacher’. Does that mean all your students pass?”

Fitz sighed and ran his hand over his face. “The day after you visited, I gave them a test and the results were not encouraging. I don’t know what they’ve been doing in maths class for the past three years, but it’s not maths. For almost everyone, I’m going to have to go back to basics and somehow fit four years of maths into one.” 

“Oh.”

“I feel like I’ve failed them already. I can repeat myself all day long, but it sometimes seems no one is listening,” he sighed. “But I can do better. They deserve better.” 

Jemma tutted her sympathies.

“But fixing things, it’s what I do. If only it were a drone that needed fixing.” He held his head in his hands. “Instead _I’m_ droning on and on in front of the class trying to ‘ensure inclusive and equitable quality education.’ Fine words doth butter no parsnips,” he muttered.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” Jemma said. “Children pay more attention than you realize. One time a mother came in with her daughter who couldn’t have been older than four and presented with a terrible rash, caused by bedbugs. I gave the mother complete instructions on how to get rid of them. At the end of the visit, I offered the little girl a lollipop I happened to have from a care package my mother sent, you know, like when we went to the doctor as children? As they left I heard the little girl explain to the mother every single instruction verbatim! She was listening, the little parrot! Maybe I just sweetened the pot.” 

Listening to Jemma’s story and hearing the phrase “sweeten the pot” it suddenly clicked. “I might have something new to try.”

“Oh?” Jemma asked, intrigued.

“I’ve been looking into alternative teaching methods and I came across this story of how street children in India who had access to a computer taught themselves all kinds of things, including microbiology.”

“Really?” Jemma broke in.

“I thought you might find that interesting. I’m not sure how to replicate it, though. My students don’t have computers or the internet, but I do. Also I was thinking of at least trying to introduce concepts using examples from their everyday life.”

“Hmmmm. Sounds like you might be innovating. Or something.”

Fitz felt himself smile, feeling a bubble of hope that he could make a difference. 

“I expect you to keep me apprised of how it goes,” Jemma said. “After all what is the point of having a fake girlfriend if you can’t share your problems with her?” 

“That doesn’t really sound like an upside for the fake girlfriend,” he replied drily.

“I’m here for you, Fitz, truly. I’m just a phone call away...Unless, of course, I don’t have good cell coverage,” she quipped.

“That’s very reassuring.”

“You’re going to do well. I believe in you.”

“Thank you Jemma, and you too. You’re doing amazing work,” Fitz said. He scratched his cheek and caught a glimpse of the time on his watch. “Speaking of work, I had better go figure out how to teach my young charges.”

After they hung up, her words continued to affect him, making him smile and boosting his confidence. Next to his mum, Jemma Simmons was the most supportive woman he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of Act 1!
> 
> I hope to post one more chapter tomorrow before Thanksgiving.
> 
> One of the stories Fitz found was about the research of Sugata Mitra. You can read about it [here](https://www.ted.com/talks/sugata_mitra_shows_how_kids_teach_themselves/transcript?language=en).


	6. Chapter 6

For the first time since he arrived in Uganda, Fitz woke up excited about teaching. His mind was abuzz with ideas that were only interrupted by his frustration at the fact that he hadn’t yet been able to rig up a shower. His mum could send him plastic tubing from home quicker than he could find it here. 

While talking to Jemma last night, one of the things he’d realized was that he’d have to go back to basics and make sure everyone was on the same page and do it right from the start.

He got to the school early, eager to put his plan into action. He was going to improvise his lesson, using the actual textbook as little as possible and explaining the principles by coming up with examples that the students could connect to their own lives. Waiting for everyone to come in was difficult due to his excitement.

Once the normal morning chatter in the classroom had died away and he had his students’ attention, Fitz began. He held up a single banana. “I am selling this for 250 shillings. If you have a 1000 shilling note, how much change should I give you back?” 

One hand went up. Fitz called on the boy in the back row. “750 shillings.” 

“Very good.” His father ran the local store, it made sense that this came easy to him. “How did you figure it out?”

“250 + 750 is 1000.” 

“How much are bananas today?” 

“236,” the boy responded proudly.

He called on another student to give the correct change. He asked for other possible prices and assigned another student to calculate the change. He kept this up until everyone had participated. Most of the students could do it in their heads. Some had to grab their notebooks and calculate the answer. Some of them gave ridiculously low or high prices. It was fun and they were engaged. 

With 60 students, it took most of the class time to get to everyone. With the clock staring him down, he announced, “Congratulations, you have all just done algebra.” 

Most of them seemed shocked. He wrote X + 250 = 1000 on the blackboard then held a banana in one hand and a thousand pound note in the other. The thousand pound note he held higher. “What do I have to add to the hand with the banana to make sure they are balanced?” He moved his hands so they were both at the same level. They all knew the answer and with one voice they replied 750. “That makes X = 750.” 

Time was up so they all started to leave. Someone asked for the banana. Another asked for 1000 shillings. With his hands on his hips, he said no to both. 

As he left the classroom buoyed by the success, he headed straight for the little snack shop to treat himself to a mandazi, the little donut-like fried cakes that he’d only encountered in Uganda. He couldn’t wait to tell Jemma how it had gone.

After school, Fitz texted Jemma. _First day was brilliant!_ He wished he could just meet her in person, but with transportation begin what it was, it was very difficult.

Later that evening, Fitz was thinking about what the next day’s lesson was going to be. He had just about given up on hearing from Jemma when he got a text from her to call her.

She picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Fitz.”

“Hey.” He sat on his bed leaning his back against the wall.

“I want to hear all about your day.” He could hear her close a door in the background.

“For the first time since leaving uni, I really felt like getting up in the morning. I can’t wait to go back tomorrow. A boy in my afternoon section actually thanked me.”

“Oh, Fitz that’s wonderful. It feels good when you can help people.” 

“I just know that if they’re curious about something, they’ll actually _want_ to learn.” He leaned forward and turned his body to lay on his stomach, his free arm hanging over the side of his bed.

“Like when you wanted to learn about monkeys and when I was curious about viruses.”

“Viruses? Nasty creatures.” Just then, he noticed a bug crawling on the floor and whacked it with a convenient shoe. “Speaking of nasty creatures, how do you deal with the bugs?” He rolled onto his back and tucked the mosquito netting under the mattress so he was completely protected.

“The house where I’m renting a room has a resident cat named Tumbler. She’s sleeping next to me now. Between Tumbler, the mosquito netting, and the fact that I’m just exhausted at the end of the day, I manage to sleep.”

“I wonder if monkeys eat bugs.” 

“Let’s not have any more talk of bugs.”

“Let’s talk about monkeys.”

“ _You_ are obsessed,” Jemma teased. 

“They make great pets.” Fitz teased back, not wanting to back down.

“No, they don’t.”

He sat up as if that would help his case. “You could train one to help you in the clinic.”

“They’re hardly sanitary! And I’ve treated at least one patient with a monkey bite wound.” 

Jemma sounded serious, but Fitz wasn’t going to give up. “Well, the orphanage has one and he seems pretty well behaved.”

“Most of them aren’t like that. He must have been properly trained.”

“So they _can_ be trained!”

“Ugh, Fitz! I’ve just heard so many stories of pet monkeys that are cute for a time and then things turn ugly.”

“Well that wouldn’t happen to me!”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know!” 

The conversation abruptly came to a halt and there was silence for a few seconds while Fitz froze.

“Listen—,” Fitz started, his head and shoulder slumped against the wall.

“I’m sorry—,” Jemma said at the same moment.

“You go first.” Fitz insisted.

“Just be careful.” 

“You’re not going to make me give up my dream?”

“As if I could make you do anything. _I’ll_ probably dream about them tonight.” Fitz could hear her yawning through the last few words.

“You must be tired.”

“I did stitches today for the first time. It was nerve-wracking.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Unless you just want to go to sleep.”

“It was fine. It was great actually, but I just felt so...” Jemma paused. 

“Responsible?” Fitz supplied.

“Yes, that's it exactly! I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“I’ll bet it was.”

“Very nearly. And I won’t ever have to do that again.”

“Stitches?” Fitz thought that unlikely.

“Stitches for the first time,” Jemma clarified.

“You’re a veteran now.” He didn’t really want the conversation to end. She was so easy to talk to.

“A tired veteran,” she giggled. 

“I’ll let you go then. But first, I didn’t mean to start an argument. I can be a little stubborn.” 

Jemma seemed unfazed. “About pet monkeys? Some would call it tenacious. I like how you never give up,” she said, stifling another yawn.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night, Fitz.”

That night Fitz dreamed he was training a monkey assistant in a lab that he shared with Jemma.

A couple of days later, Fitz received a text from Jemma in the middle of class. It seemed she was in need of tech support. 

With a smile, he quickly texted back: _I have an opening at 6:00._

True to form, Jemma called him exactly at 6:00, just as Fitz was wrestling with his stove out in the courtyard trying to convince it to heat his dinner so he didn’t have to eat it cold. He ran back in the house and picked up on the second ring. “Thank you for calling the Monkey Wrench help desk. This is Fitz, how may I help you?” he said playfully as sat in the chair, leaned back and put his feet up on the table.

“Hello, Fitz is it?” Jemma played along. “It’s the Bus. It just doesn’t seem to have enough power to keep all the electrical systems up. The poor battery wasn’t designed to handle the load we put on it and—”

“—it’s hard to start the engine with a dead battery,” Fitz finished.

“Exactly.”

Fitz brought his feet back down to the floor and paced about his small quarters to help him think. “How about solar panels? On the roof? They might serve as a backup power source to keep a spare battery charged. I recently read that Roxxan was offering grants to get them into developing countries. I would be happy to install them if you can get them in. Do you want me to come on a Saturday to look at the DC to AC converter? That’s probably the source of some power loss.”

“Oh! That’s a great idea. Thank you so much. I’ll look into getting those solar panels, too. And it seems I owe you another beer,” Jemma said, the relief evident. “That’s two, though,” she reminded him. “Let me know when you want to collect.” 

“As soon as possible! What are you doing Saturday?”

“Oh, let me check the _extremely_ tentative…” She paused for a moment and then her voice seemed distant as she rummaged through some papers. “Make that _wildly_ variable schedule…” Fitz heard noises of bumping and scratching. 

“Here it is,” she said triumphantly. “This Saturday...the Bus is supposed to visit your village! How serendipitous! Of course, that’s Ugandan time.” 

“Right. It could be Sunday.”

“Or Monday.” Jemma replied with a sigh.

“Whenever it is,” Fitz assured her, “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Thanks for your help, Fitz. I knew I could count on you.” 

Fitz smiled. It was nice to be appreciated. Especially by Jemma. “We here at Monkey Wrench Industries are always happy to help.” 

“And if you need _anything,_ let me know,” she said earnestly.

“If I need a vaccine to cure me, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“I hate to think of you being sick.” She sounded a bit alarmed, but then became more matter-of-fact. “Of course, I’d use an anti-serum, not a vaccine.”

“Anti-serum. Gotcha. It’ll be great to see you on Saturday. Or thereabouts.”

“Until then. Bye, Fitz.”

“Bye, Jemma.” Fitz hung up and fell back on his bed and grinned madly. He certainly didn’t feel sick; on the contrary, he hadn’t felt this good in years.


	7. Chapter 7

Since ditching the textbook, Fitz had started to feel more confident as a teacher and more secure in his ability to reach his students with his lessons. He taught two sections of S4 Advanced Math each day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and each class had a slightly different feel. There were more trouble-makers in the morning section, and the afternoon class tended to be quieter during discussions. He tried to pace the lessons so both classes were roughly in the same place. So far, his experiment was working.

For this afternoon class, Fitz had moved the desks around into groups so they could collaborate on a puzzle involving multiplying and dividing numbers with exponents. Just moving the desks around had changed the whole dynamic. The group had gone from quiet individuals to enthusiastic groups. 

To an outsider, the classroom might have seemed rowdy and chaotic, but he knew it meant their brains were working and engaged.

He visited each group as they worked and took note of each student. He had been with them long enough, almost a month, that he had a good idea of their strengths and weaknesses, as well as who worked well with whom. Today he had mixed them up to expose them to different dynamics.

Daisy shone in her group. As usual, she had her puzzle done early and correctly. She smiled more nowadays, and the other kids seemed to respect her more. Fitz guessed that she had never really fit in, not because of her orphan status, but because she was clearly not Ugandan—probably mixed race, possibly Anglo-Chinese. He was glad mathematics was giving her a way to flourish.

Once the students were done with their puzzles, Fitz was ready to try part two of his experiment in teaching techniques. Students in developed countries had access to the internet. What about here? He could be their access. 

Sitting down in a chair so he was at their level, he asked, “If you could learn anything in the world, what would you want to know?”

Silence. He sat there for a full minute while no one said anything. The students clearly weren’t used to being asked what they were interested in. It took a few moments but finally a tentative hand rose from Daisy, “Mr. Fitz, why do we only see one side of the moon?”

Fitz breathed a sigh of relief. 

“That’s an excellent question, and it has a tricky answer.” 

A few students snickered. But Fitz held up his hands with a smile, “I don’t know everything! But I will report back tomorrow with the answer. Excellent work today class.”

That night, Fitz researched the question. Once he had the answer, he worked on how to best present it to the class and still tie it to a mathematical concept. It was a new kind of thinking for him, but he was excited to bring it to his students. 

After another interactive lesson, this time based on Daisy’s question, he didn’t even have to ask for a topic. Every student wanted to be the one whose question was given a whole lesson. It was as close as they could get to being famous.

A student’s hand shot up, “What’s an eclipse?” as Fitz had mentioned them in his lesson. 

His day only got better when he received a text from Jemma confirming that she and the Bus would indeed be making the scheduled stop in their village.

* * *

Fitz waited all morning for the Bus to arrive. He perched on the top of a low wall sketching the town center and watching for any sign of the familiar vehicle. When it finally arrived, he once again helped distract patients who were getting shots. He didn’t stick to just reciting the digits of Pi or making funny faces this time. Sometimes he gave short monologues from _Braveheart_ in a heavy Scottish brogue. He knew people wouldn’t understand, but as long as they were paying attention to him and laughing, he was doing his job. When the line for injections died down, Jemma put a sign out that they were closed for half an hour. 

“I thought we could share it.” Jemma stood in the open door of the Bus as she held out a beer.

“Brilliant!” Fitz was sitting on a folding chair underneath the canopy Jemma had brought to shelter patients from the sun as they waited. “Although, I believe your precise words were: ‘I owe you a beer’ as in a _whole_ beer. Actually, wasn’t it two?” There was a mischievous glimmer in Fitz’s eye.

“I only had room in the fridge for one.” Jemma asserted. “You’re just lucky it’s cold. You should have seen the look on Mack’s face when I told him it was off limits.” She took a seat next to Fitz as she handed him the bottle.

Fitz took a sip, savoring the taste and simply enjoying something so cold after so long before handing it to Jemma. “Oh, that’s good.”

“I don’t know if they are coming to see me or you,” Jemma teased before taking a sip herself. “You’re very popular. You must be integrating, as they say.”

“I have _you_ to thank for that. I never would have given myself the job of comic relief. Truthfully, I find it very easy to just sit in my room and hide. I guess I’m still adjusting; life here can be draining.”

“Same. The frustrations of not having what I need, my things being all over the place, and trying to improvise all the time is so tiring.”

“Sometimes when the power goes out I think, ‘Naptime!’” Fitz shrugged. 

“Problem solved.” She emphasized her point by plunking the bottle down on the table next to him.

“Where do you live then? On the grounds of the clinic?” Fitz took a sizable gulp this time.

“Hey, save some for your generous benefactor!”

“I thought I’d earned it!” Fitz retorted teasingly.

“That you did.” Jemma relented. “Anyway, I rent a room in a house just down the street from the clinic. I have a real bathroom so I consider myself fortunate.”

“Indoor plumbing. I’m jealous.”

A breeze picked up and Jemma turned her face into the wind. “What about you?” 

“Bucket baths. Latrine out in the courtyard. It’s boy scout camp every day.”

She wrinkled her nose. “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound too bad. How is the smell?”

“Nothing that a scented candle couldn’t fix.” 

“I can’t help you there. Oh, I have those plastic pieces you asked for.” Fitz had remembered seeing some pyramid shaped packing pieces that were routinely thrown out at the clinic. He had asked her to collect some for him. She went to retrieve them but before she reemerged, he heard her say, “Can you come in here?” 

“Sure.” The interior was dim, the only light coming from a small window above an examination table along one side. On the other side were cabinets, a countertop and cupboards. There was just enough space for one person to walk in between them and Jemma stood pointing at a piece of equipment on the counter. 

“The autoclave has been very unreliable and we can’t afford a new one. Can you take a look at it?” she said, a concerned look on her face.

“I am looking at it.” Fitz was having fun being literal.

“Can you _fix_ it?” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Of course I can fix it. What does it do?”

“It sterilizes medical equipment. It kills bacteria with heat,” she replied with a slightly patronizing tone.

Fitz kept his own annoyance in check. _I know what sterilize means._ “Looks like my mum’s pressure cooker. Electric power?”

“What else would it be?”

“I’m just asking.”

He tried to get closer and Jemma backed up to let him, but reaching around behind it he couldn’t feel for a cord or plug. 

“I can’t get around. It would be easier if you had more space.” Fitz tried a new angle and at the same time Jemma came up to help him, but in the close quarters they just crashed into each other. Making contact like that was certainly not helping him diagnose the problem with the device. Fitz tried to move out of her way but she apparently decided to go the same way and now she was blocking the only light from the outside. 

“And more light.” His voice was sharper than he’d meant it to be, but he was getting a little flustered with her so close.

She stepped away slightly. “We’d love to have a bigger space but sometimes you have to compromise when you are trying to maximize fuel efficiency—”

“I know that! But I can’t see!”

“—Mr. PhD in engineering.”

“Maybe if you get out of my way!” Fitz’s head snapped around to address her directly. Fitz didn’t expect to see her so close and his eyes widened and he held his breath. 

“Fine! I’ll get out of your hair and have some more beer before it gets warm!” Jemma stalked out of the Bus.

Letting out the breath he had been holding in and chastising himself for getting cross with her, Fitz worked quickly to troubleshoot the equipment.

As he worked to free a valve that had crusted over, he tried to formulate an apology. He always did better with those things when he planned out his words ahead of time. It was so easy to say the wrong thing again, and then you were worse off than before!

When he was confident he’d gotten everything cleared up, he carried the lid with him and stood in the doorway of the Bus. Jemma sat with her back to the door and Fitz cleared his throat. Jemma turned to look as he fiddled with the lid. “Hey listen,” he said. “I’m sorry I was such a bear in there. I don’t always think before I speak.”

“I _was_ a little short with you,” Jemma admitted, clearly wanting to patch things up. “It’s just that we need it to be working and it’s so frustrating to deal with. Did you have any luck?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

Fitz held out the lid to her, a tentative smile on his lips, “If you want to come in and test it, it should be good for another 40,000 miles.”

“Really?” she said, her eyes lighting up as she approached the doorway and took the lid from him.

Fitz tried awkwardly to get out of her way as Jemma squeezed past. The tight quarters were making it hard for him not to notice how very pretty she was.

“Thank you, I’ll do that then.” She held his gaze sincerely for a moment but then her eyes flitted to the lid and then to the interior of the Bus.

“Let me get something to try it out,” she said as she walked over to a cupboard overhead. As she opened the door, a few items fell out. “And those are the plastics parts for your class.” 

Fitz took a couple of steps closer to gather the bag. Seeing that he probably couldn’t sneak past her without bumping into her, he said, “Um, could you…?” and pointed at the bag on the floor.

“Oh! Sure!” Jemma dropped what she was doing, picked up the bag and whirled around to hand it to Fitz.

Fitz eager to not make her work too hard, took one step closer. She spun around saying, “Are these what you wanted?” And they collided. 

“Um, sorry—” he started to say. They were nose to nose, just inches apart. He was so close, he could see that her brown eyes had little gold flecks in them.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, taking a step back. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“My fault.” He took the pieces from her and said, “They’re perfect.” Their eyes met and locked for a moment and Fitz had the overwhelming urge to do something stupid. Before the blush that began creeping up face could take hold, he exited the Bus and took a deep breath.

“Fitz, don’t you want to see it work?” she called after him.

“I’m just going to drop these at my house, so I don’t lose them. I’ll be right back.” He had to get away and process these confusing feelings. He usually scared people away with his quick temper, but Jemma had forgiven him and everything seemed to have righted itself. Why, then, did he feel so out of sorts?

When Fitz came back, a line of people had formed under the canopy and Jemma was seeing a patient. 

When she came out, she gave him the thumbs up. “It’s working again! Thank you!”

“Thanks for the packing pieces.” He held up a zippered pouch. “I brought my tools, I’ll just check on the power converter.”

“Would you? That’d be terrific.”

He was actually relieved to not be working directly with her. Maybe being in such close proximity wasn’t a good idea right now. But hearing her converse with her patients, sometimes encouraging, sometimes admonishing, always kind, helped him feel connected to her as he tinkered with the converter. Jemma was definitely unlike anyone he had ever met.


	8. Chapter 8

Toward the end of the first term, Fitz was on a roll. The students seemed to be enjoying his class. There are always two or three troublemakers, but he tried to ignore them.

“The volume of a square-based prism is the area of the base times the height. The volume of a square-based pyramid is that formula divided by three,” he said one morning. “Why do you think that is?”

They were working in teams playing with the plastic pyramids Jemma had found for him. One of the boys, Jacob, got the idea of fitting the pyramids together. Fitz let the kids talk freely and within 10 minutes, one group had come up with the answer. 

“Three pyramids fit in one prism,” observed Jacob. “So the volume of a pyramid must be the volume of a prism divided by three.”

“Very good. What’s next?” Fitz asked. As he walked to the front of the class, he pointed to one of the troublemakers, “Joseph, you have not asked a question. What would you like to know about?”

“What is a virus?” Joseph responded. 

All the wind went out of Fitz’s sails. It was not really his wheelhouse; it might take longer than normal to research. Masking his concern, Fitz addressed the whole class. "‘What is a virus?’ We will find out next week.” And then, turning to Joseph, he said, “Thank you for that question.” 

Between classes, he went to the staff room to eat lunch and to review his lesson plan for the afternoon section. As he made minor edits to his latest math puzzle, Fitz pondered the puzzle of Daisy Johnson. He knew she was smart; the only question was ‘how smart?’ Maybe it was time to challenge her more and to see where it led.

At the start of his afternoon class, he got their attention.

“I want to tell you a story, then ask a question. Carl Friedrich Gauss was a mathematician in Germany a long time ago in the 1800s. But when he was in math class, he was often bored. One day in frustration, in an attempt to keep the boy occupied, his teacher told him to add up all the numbers from 1 to 100. It should have taken an hour but Gauss had the answer right away. How do you think he did that?”

Some students started adding them all up. Daisy jotted a few numbers down and raised her hand after only a few moments. “5,050,” she said. “There are 50 pairs of 101.”

Amazed and jubilant, Fitz walked over to her desk in the back row and looked at her work. “You have a gift. How did your other teachers not notice this?”

“Because no one made it this interesting,” she said.

 _What a day._ Fitz got two mandazis at the snack shop after school, one for Fernando and one to celebrate because Daisy was even smarter than he thought. He stopped stressing out about giving himself a crash course in viruses when he realized he already knew a leading expert in the field.

He quickly texted Jemma: _I need tech support._

While he waited for her to call back, he made his usual rounds. He stopped by the orphanage to play with Fernando. Then he watched the pick-up soccer game in the adjacent field. Without an athletic bone in his body, he didn’t join in. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the game and cheered them on enthusiastically. Next he went shopping. At every stop along the route, at the cell phone kiosk, the mango stand, the usual place where he bought a cold bottle of Fanta soda, he checked his phone.

Finally, while he was on his way home he received a text from Jemma saying it was okay to call her. He quickly called her and she picked right up.

“Fitz! How can I help you?”

Fitz got right to the point. “Two things: one of my students, Daisy, is amazing. I’ve never seen an intellect quite like it. Except for you of course.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that,” Jemma replied.

Fitz went on excitedly, “You should see her! She always knows the answer. Sometimes she’ll tell me right away. Sometime she waits until she thinks no one else will get the answer. I’ve come to rely on her.”

“She sounds like an asset.”

Fitz had arrived at his house and had to avoid the cow and chicken in the courtyard to get to his door. “Remember the Gauss story?”

“I think so,” Jemma replied, “Wasn’t he the German mathematician who, when he was young, added all the numbers—”

“Yes, she did it!” Fitz interrupted, eager to share the best part. “She could be a great mathematician some day.”

They both grew silent. The probability of her even going to college was pretty remote.

Jemma broke the silence. “She could. But what did you need my expertise for?”

“Could you hang on a minute? I’m sorry.” Fitz fumbled with his key, unlocked the door, and unloaded his goods. “Jemma?”

“I’m here.”

Sitting down in his chair, he explained, “In one of my classes the question was ‘What’s a virus?’ Naturally, I thought of you.”

“Naturally.” She seemed very pleased. “Let me pull together some resources and email them to you.” 

Fitz thought about how fast he was burning through data. “That’d be great. Can you also include some mathematical data on the spread of diseases? I’m thinking of using it to teach exponential growth.”

“Certainly.” 

“I owe _you_ a beer. Or half a beer. I can’t keep track.” Fitz began stashing his purchases in their usual places.

“Well, first you agreed to play the part of my boyfriend.” Fitz had almost forgotten about that. He was enjoying just being her friend. “Then you came up with the idea of solar panels for the Bus.”

“And you paid me back with half a beer.”

“But then you fixed the autoclave _and_ the converter on the Bus, not to mention the generator at the clinic.” Jemma added. “If I help with a virus lesson, that still leaves me owing you three and a half beers.”

“This is why I’m not an accountant. It was easy for me to do those things, you don’t owe me anything.”

“And I could write a primer on viruses in my sleep,” Jemma replied. “We help each other, it’s what friends do.”

Fitz wondered if, since he could go from fake boyfriend to friend, he might also move from friend to something more?

“Fitz?”

Her voice shook him from this thoughts. _Earth to Fitz._ “Oh, yes, that’s what friends do. How are you, my friend, doing today?” He wanted to let her talk so he could corral his aspirations into something realistic. 

“Oh, there’s ups. There’s downs. I feel more stable than when I first got here, though.” Fitz’s internal argument resumed however. _Maybe best friend? Stop, already!_

“Oh?” He had to get his head back into the conversation. He rolled his eyes at himself in exasperation.

“You know those first few months? I was so happy to be here. But then I was so lonely I couldn’t stop crying.” 

Fitz remembered. He started absently fiddling with the corner of a paperback book on the table. “You want to know a secret?”

“What?” Jemma asked conspiratorially. 

“I cried the first night on site.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her that. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she said with sympathy. 

“I’m such an idiot.” He put his arm on the table and rested his head on it.

“You’ve proven that you are not.”

“After three months of language school,” Fitz argued, “which we shouldn’t even have to do because—Hello? Isn’t the official language English?—I barely passed the exit exam. My host family was great, though. Their four-year-old boy loved me for some reason.”

“I did _not_ get along with my host family!” Before they start their official duties, VFA volunteers spend the first three months in their assigned countries attending orientation and language training while living with local residents.

“At least you learned the language,” said Fitz. 

“I felt like such a child, though. I knew nothing.” 

“Why?” He sat up, outraged that she would feel that way. 

“I was constantly forgetting to take off my shoes when I came in the house and one time I got yelled at for _feeding the dog._ ” She feigned outrage, “The horror! Then there was the _one_ time I didn’t wash my hands before lunch. Wouldn’t you know it, the next day I take the time to wash my hands extra carefully, and got into trouble because I was late for lunch. I have a PhD!”

“Hear, hear. Dr. Simmons deserves better!”

“It did get better once I was on site. It was exhilarating to actually start working at the clinic. I was absolutely ecstatic being there, but I was so _tired_ every night.” She quickly added, “But not too tired to talk to you.”

Even the mention of being tired made the bed suddenly seem very attractive. He began taking off his shoes. “You know I started this new style of curriculum to solve the dreadful textbook problem but now I have a new problem.” Fitz laid on his back and looked up. “Daisy seems to be some sort of prodigy; I have to foster that somehow.” 

“Yup.” Jemma agreed. “Solutions have a way of begetting problems. We’ve been clamoring for more AIDS medication but now we need to figure out how to get it to the more remote villages. There’s one village with three teachers out sick right now but the road is impassable.

“Three teachers? Isn’t there a vaccine for AIDS?” asked Fitz.

“Sadly, no,” said Jemma. “It’s very complicated. I’ll include all that in my email.”

Fitz vaguely remembered the health training segment in orientation how AIDS was much more prevalent here than back in his home country. That would explain the HIV prevention posters hanging in the hallways at school. 

“It is possible the boy who asked the question knows someone with HIV,” offered Jemma.

“You think so?” He was slowly coming to that realization as well.

“It’s a huge problem.” Jemma continued, “Perhaps an uncle? Among older males, 14% of them live with HIV. We have meds to suppress AIDS, but they have to be on the medication for the rest of their lives.”

“Really? So there’s no cure.”

“Not at the moment,” said Jemma. “It’s a fascinating field of study. Maybe that’s something I could work on when I get home.”

“Well, until then, it seems you’ll be educating both me and my students.” Maybe it would help Joseph understand something he’s been afraid of. 

“Happy to be of service. And congratulations, again,” said Jemma, warmly.

“On what?” said Fitz.

“On your discovery.”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “It’s pretty remarkable. Thanks for letting me share the good news with someone.” 

“Anytime,” said Jemma. “Well, I should go.”

“Me, too. I’ll look for that email.”

“I’ve already started working on it.” 

Fitz could hear key clicks in the background. “Thank you!”

“Bye, Fitz.”

“Bye.”

It was nearly dark and Fitz was in bed. Talking with Jemma always gave a warm feeling. He was tempted to just sleep right then and there, but he was hungry. He fixed himself a cold dinner and then went to bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Once the second term began, Fitz, using his laptop, started tutoring Daisy in the orphanage after school in the basics of computer programming. Fitz thought that it was a practical thing for her to learn and good for Daisy’s prospects. She took to it like a duck to water. 

At the beginning, there was a moderate amount of hand-holding, but increasingly, like today, Daisy needed only the occasional consult, so Fitz idly entertained himself on his phone.

“Mr. Fitz, why isn’t it working?” asked Daisy, looking up from the computer with a frown.

Fitz leaned over Daisy’s shoulder to look at her code and suggested a fix. 

As Daisy made the necessary changes, his mind drifted back to the break between terms when he’d spent two days at a VFA retreat at a hotel in a nearby city. He’d had a chance to get his fix of wifi, stock up on snacks and take a long hot shower, but he found he missed seeing the monkey everyday. Although Jemma wasn’t there (the Bus was traveling), they had chatted on the phone and both vowed to attend the next conference together. Two whole days in the same place at the same time. It seemed like a long way off. 

Daisy, finished with her changes, turned to Fitz with a questioning look and Fitz quickly scanned her work.

“Good. Now try to run it,” Fitz praised her.

Daisy recompiled the code to incorporate the new changes and started the program. Soon an image appeared on the screen. “Yay!” she cheered. 

“That is how you retrieve jpegs off a corrupted SD card. You did it!” Fitz gave her a congratulatory pat on the back while Daisy clapped her hands together.

“I did. Thanks, Mr. Fitz.” 

Done for the day, Fitz looked around for Andrew Garner, the orphanage director, to say goodbye. He found him in the kitchen peeling potatoes. “That’s it for today. She’s a natural. I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks since she started learning how to code.”

Andrew shook his head in amazement. “She used to be so withdrawn—in her own little world....”

Fitz looked over at Daisy as she stared at the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Now she’s in a whole new world called the internet.”

Andrew put the peels in a compost bin, saying, “You’ve done wonders for her.”

Fitz asked about how the other kids from his classes were doing and they chatted amiably while Fitz tried to make himself useful in the kitchen.

When Daisy let out a little “whoop”, Fitz laughed and said to Andrew, “I’d better end this session before she uses up all my data.” Leaving the kitchen, he walked back over to check on what she was up to. 

She smiled up at him triumphantly. “Mr. Fitz, I beat your high score.”

“What now?”

“Are you or are you not ‘JustFitz’ in MonkeyBusiness?”

“Yes? But how— What—” he sputtered and looked at her screen. “You used my computer and my data to play games?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

Daisy nodded exactly once and held her chin up high. 

Fitz just shook his head and retrieved his laptop case. “Looks like I’ll have to just beat this ‘IsleofSkye’. Is that you?” He was going to have to buy more data at the kiosk, but it was a small price to pay for a little friendly competition.

“That’s me.”

“Did you know that’s in Scotland?” said Fitz putting the laptop back in its case.

“I installed Google Earth but it’s pretty laggy,” replied Daisy. “You might want to boost your clock speed.”

Fitz coughed and laughed. “Really?” _She learns fast._

As he passed by the kitchen to let himself out, he exchanged goodbyes with Andrew before turning around to Daisy, “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mr. Fitz.”

Fitz had to prepare for class tomorrow. He was capitalizing on their interest in cell tower structures to introduce basic graph theory. 

He would, of course, take a break and play MonkeyBusiness.

And call Jemma.

* * *

Jemma was in town a week later and she and Fitz were sharing both a beer and their woes under the canopy of the Bus. 

“It happened again,” Fitz said wearily. “I sat in my classroom and no students showed up. Turned out it was a national holiday, announced no doubt at a staff meeting that I am never informed of. A month into the second term, and I still am no closer to figuring out when they are.” 

“Have you talked to your headmaster?” said Jemma before she took a sip.

“His schedule fluctuates so much, I don’t always know when he’s going to be around. He did tell me when I first started that it’s not required for me to attend. It’s for the permanent staff mostly, but I always feel like I’m missing something.” Fitz sat back in the chair, crossed his arms and concentrated on the bottle.

“On the other hand, any meeting you don’t need to go to….” Jemma trailed off and then said, “Is anything else bothering you?”

 _How did she know?_ Fitz looked up at her. “I found out Joseph’s dad has AIDS.” 

Jemma nodded. “I think we took him his meds.” 

He leaned forward with his hands clasped together in front of him on the table. “And as long as he keeps taking them…?” 

“People can live for twenty years or so. But if they don’t take them, they easily pick up other illnesses which they can’t fight. Tuberculosis, pneumonia.” Jemma took another sip and pushed the bottle toward him.

“Some of my students have already lost their mum or dad.” He took a swig, grateful at least to have something to do with his hands. He was feeling very uncomfortable.

Suddenly he was a child again wishing his father would come back. Then he was a teenager who became angry at any thought of his father. Now he just mourned a loss that could never be recovered. Jemma’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Between the civil war and the AIDS epidemic, a lot of young people are growing up without both parents. Some haven’t any at all. So sad,” she said and then asked, “Do you want any more?”

Fitz just shook his head and looked at his hands while Jemma drained the bottle. He didn’t look up. He was sure that looking into her compassionate face would set him off, and tearing up was not what he wanted to do right now. 

Misty-eyed, he abruptly changed the subject. 

“Hey, can I show you something?”

“Sure!” If Jemma noticed the sudden change she didn’t comment on it.

He led her back to his house and brought out the drone he’d been working on. It was a small one about two feet by two feet with four propellers, one on each corner.

“I asked my research advisor to send it to me, and it finally arrived,” said Fitz as he laid it on the grass in the courtyard. “I haven’t even tried it. I thought it might be fun to attach a camera and take some aerial shots of the village.” He looked around to see if there was anyone around. “But now I’m having second thoughts. Everybody will want to play with it and I’m just not ready.”

“What else could you do with it?” Jemma crouched down to get a better look.

“Deliver Amazon orders,” said Fitz.

She looked up at him, surprised, “What?”

“I’m kidding. Would be nice though.”

“You’re funny,” she said. Then she turned back to admire the drone. 

There were so many things he wanted to reply with. 

_You’re gorgeous._

_You’re smart._

_You’re wonderful._

It was so nice that they were friends. He hardly ever felt lonely anymore. 

It was nice to have someone who understood him.

“You understand me,” he said. He crouched down next to her and had to resist the urge to take her hand.

“We’re both scientists trying to change the world.” She turned her face toward him smiling broadly. 

Looking into her laughing brown eyes, he couldn’t help but smile in return. _She could light up the world with those eyes._ “Trying, yes,” said Fitz. “Some days I just hope to feed myself.”

“You’re too modest.” Jemma replied, punching him lightly on the arm. “You’re doing such great work here.”

“Also, we’re both British,” she said as she stood up. “And the British are notorious for hiding their feelings, stiff upper lip and all. But I see right through you Leopold Fitz. What you lack is a scented candle and I might just have one back on the Bus.”

Fitz’s eyes lit up as he stood. “Where did you—? You wouldn’t happen to have a length of plastic tubing?” he asked hopefully. 

Her eyes sparkling, Jemma replied, “Gobs of them. Also, I want to meet Daisy.” 

Fitz was all smiles as he returned the drone to his room and accompanied Jemma back to the Bus.

* * *

Fond memories about Jemma’s visit stayed with Fitz throughout the next morning. He was certain nothing could bring him down. 

As Fitz got the class’s attention that it was time to begin, Marvin interrupted him.

“I can’t find my notebook.”

 _Seriously, again?_ Marvin had a tendency to “lose” his notebook just to waste time.

Fitz handled it with more aplomb than usual. “Anybody, not Marvin, who finds it gets five extra bonus points toward this week’s quiz.” It took about 30 seconds, but magically Marvin found his notebook!

 _Amazing._ Still, though, why should this continue day after day? Fitz thought maybe it was time for something completely different. Perhaps he could enlist the help of the other students.

“I would like to have some democracy right here in this classroom.” He split them into groups and had them discuss who among their classmates who might be nominated to a new thing he called “classroom representative.” With seven spirited discussions going on, the volume level got the attention of passersby in the hallway, but people were used to his unorthodox methods by now.

By the end of the class, they had selected a “cabinet” of three students the kids all respected. On the way out, he celebrated internally when he heard one of them trying to reason with Marvin about the consequences of losing his notebook again.

One of his colleagues poked his head in as the students were leaving to say that Mr. Talbot wanted to see him. Fitz didn’t know why the headmaster would summon him like that. He hadn’t had many dealings with him ever since that time Marvin had been taken to task for catcalling. Did it have to do with his VFA classroom observation and evaluation?

After class, he stopped by Mr. Talbot’s office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. Hello, Mr. Fitz. Please take a seat.” And Fitz felt his stomach turn at the phrase. “I trust you are doing well.”

“Yes.” Fitz said as he tried to relax, but he bounced his knee unconsciously.

“And your students?”

“I’d like to think there’s progress. We had to do a significant amount of review, but they can handle just about any kind of problem involving exponents.”

“You have some very unusual methods. How are you finding the textbook?” asked Mr. Talbot.

“Um.” Suddenly realizing what he’d been called in for. “I’m not using it much,” Fitz confessed.

“That’s what I thought,” Talbot said seriously. “You know we’re counting on you to get these kids ready for the exit exam at the end of the year.”

“I’m aware of that, but the textbook may not be the best way to do that. It’s designed for a different place and time.”

Mr. Talbot challenged, “Are you saying you’re smarter than the Ministry of Education?”

Fitz tried to defend himself, “I hear what you are saying, but—”

“It’s a tried and true method.” Mr. Talbot’s voice was increasing in volume. “The parents expect their children are being prepared. You understand how important the O-level exam is.”

“Yes, sir.” Fitz was so stunned he couldn’t formulate more of a response. How could he explain how far behind they were at the start of the year without offending the headmaster? How could he explain how Daisy and all the students thrived in this new environment? 

“The way I see it is this.” Mr. Talbot went on, “The desks are all rearranged, students are talking with each other more than listening to instruction, and I fail to see how buying and selling bananas in the classroom qualifies as advanced math.”

Mr. Talbot was not going to be convinced today. Fitz’s reply was terse. “Message received.”

“That is all. I just want what’s best for these kids.” Fitz could see the headmaster was sincere.

“That’s what I want, too.” Fitz stood firm.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitz, I knew you’d understand.”

Frustrated, but holding his emotions in check, Fitz knew the meeting was over and with a nod, took his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for you patience, everyone! Hopefully, I can get another chapter up tomorrow or the next day.


	10. Chapter 10

_Did Mr. Talbot know how poor the textbook was? Had he ever tried to teach from it?_ Fitz reasoned with himself that if he could just get through his afternoon class, he’d have a chance to talk to Jemma or his mum. _Why couldn’t his boss be as supportive as they were?_

After class, he took a long walk down the road leading out of town. He tried Jemma and then his mum, but neither was available. He sighed. He kept walking, hoping to clear his head and perhaps one of them would call back. When neither happened, he felt guilty about missing his tutoring session with Daisy and decided to head back. Plus seeing his little monkey friend, Fernando, always proved to be therapeutic.

Once Fitz was done tutoring Daisy, he wandered out to the soccer field. Ben, one of his students who lived at the orphanage, was out playing by himself. Ben was a handful in the classroom, didn’t pay attention and sometimes he teamed up with Marvin to disrupt the class, but he seemed like a good-natured kid.

Fitz called out to him, “Where is everybody?”

Ben seemed excited to see him and ran over. “They’re still picking up sticks for Andrew.” The sticks would be fuel for the stove at the orphanage.

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“I’m done already because I’m fast.” Ben demonstrated his quickness by running across the field and back. 

“That you are.”

“Do you want to play?” Ben asked, bouncing a ball from one instep to another.

“I’m afraid I’m a terrible player. I make an excellent spectator, though.” Fitz had an idea. He got out his phone and pulled up a video of a famous goal of his favorite team back home. “Hey, watch this.”

Ben was entranced. They watched a few more and Ben tried to reenact them, celebrating like he saw the professionals do. Fitz made crowd noises and improvised some play by play commentary. After the seventh video Ben turned serious and spoke. “My dad and I used to play together before the war took him.” Ben looked down and kicked a rock. When Fitz didn’t respond, Ben looked up.

Fitz, with compassion in his eyes, held Ben’s gaze and said, “I haven’t seen my dad since I was ten years old. He just left and I don’t know where he is.” Something like an understanding passed between them. 

Just then, some other kids began trickling in and Ben called them over to see Fitz’s videos. Soon five or more boys were gathered around the tiny screen and the reenactments became impromptu practice sessions with Fitz coaching from the sideline. When his phone battery warned it was low, and Fitz said he had to go, they pleaded with him to stay, but he promised he’d be back tomorrow.

As he headed home, he hoped the power was on so he could charge his phone and either his mum or Jemma could talk him down off the ledge the headmaster had put him on. Truthfully, he didn’t feel quite _as_ bad anymore, but it would be nice to hash this out with Jemma. It was a regular thing now. They talked almost every day. He wished it was every day, in person. It was great having a best friend for the first time in his life.

He was able to get through to Jemma that night, and together they came to the conclusion that he couldn’t go back to the old ways despite what the headmaster said. He made his case to her about how the students, even the slower ones, were catching up to where they should be. And truthfully, he had only just started to cover concepts in the S4 textbook. Jemma suggested that he have the book on hand to show them what previous S4 classes had used, but then ask the students if they wanted to learn from the book or Mr. Fitz’s way. “You know what they are going to say,” she had said. Fitz thought it was a great idea. She also suggested Fitz ask about getting practices tests for the students. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Nothing was ever as bad as it seemed when she was there to bounce things off of.

He continued his daily routine which had become: 

  * Teach math.
  * Have lunch.
  * Teach math.
  * Pick up two mandazis (one for Fernando, if he was good).
  * Tutor Daisy in coding.
  * Coach and/or referee a pickup soccer game.
  * Stop at the market.
  * Have dinner.
  * Prep for the next day’s lesson.
  * Call Jemma if she was free, which she usually was.



Fitz taught his class how to make their own cork compasses and how to read a map in order to teach them about vectors. He explained line graphs and connected them to calculations to solve construction problems. He used the upcoming elections to teach probability.

He just couldn’t go back to the way it had always been done in years past. 

A few days after his meeting with the headmaster, when he was planning his lessons, Jemma texted him, “I had an idea.” He quickly wrapped up his planning and called her.

“What’s the big idea?” he asked once she picked up.

“Hi, Fitz! I had a thought and wanted your opinion. I know you were joking about doing Amazon deliveries with your drone, but seriously do you think it could work?”

“Are you expecting a delivery from Amazon?” he teased.

“No, silly. I want to make deliveries. Small packages of medicine. It might be the solution for our AIDS patients.” 

Fitz immediately understood the basic concept and got out his notebook and started putting some ideas on paper. “That’s brilliant.”

“You inspired me,” she replied. 

_It goes both ways, Jemma._ “But it’s you who thought of it.” Fitz lifted his pencil and started jiggling it as he tried to think of all the variables. “You’d certainly need to install a tracker of some sort. How much would these deliveries weigh?”

“500 grams?” Jemma guessed. “Could we start there and then see if we could increase it?”

“And how far would it have to go?”

“That varies. Let’s say 30 kilometers. The basic idea is to send a drone from our clinic to a trusted individual at a village and have them distribute the medicine, then somehow get the drone back. I know the people from my travels, but I don’t know the technology.”

“60 kilometers round trip,” Fitz said as he wrote the number down. “What if the drone didn’t have to land, but just dropped the package and then returned?” 

“Sure! This is so exciting! Do you really think it could work?”

Fitz reached for his calculator and then stopped. “Wait. My drone wouldn’t go far enough. It’s just a prototype. But I could connect you with someone who could customize one to your specific needs.”

“Yes, of course! I didn’t mean to ask for the use of your drone. Just the use of your expertise.” Jemma clarified.

“But we certainly could do a proof of concept.” He began toying with sketches of baskets and hooks to hang from the drone.

“That would be perfect, thanks. I owe you,” Jemma reminded him.

She didn’t owe him, but he could use another candle. “Got any more of those candles? Maybe pine scented.” He continued sketching.

“For my best friend? Anything.” Jemma said warmly. 

His stomach did a little flip and his pencil stopped moving. “I’ve been promoted to best friend now?”

“Why not?”

“But you’re not my best friend.” Fitz said playfully, resuming his drawing. 

“I have a rival?”

“You’re my _only_ friend here in Uganda.”

Jemma, amused, replied, “I refuse to believe that. You’re very friendly.”

“Truthfully, I never did make friends easily. It’s the one reservation my mum had about me coming here.”

“My parents had loads of reservations!” exclaimed Jemma. “They said, ‘Why would you leave a perfectly good country for one with all that dirt and disease and poverty?’” 

_I ask myself that every day._ He got the drone out and examined it, thinking of possible placements for a package. “Why _did_ you do that to yourself? I’m glad you did, though.”

“Me, too,” Jemma agreed. “You know how parents are, they wanted me to be comfortable. But I knew I needed to grow and see how the rest of the world lived. I’m getting exactly that. And, if all goes well, I can be part of creating change. Maybe this is it!”

“That _is_ the goal.” He set the drone on his bed and resumed drawing.

“Although, sometimes I wonder if anything will change in the world,” Jemma mused aloud. “But still there are some aspects that are magnificent. When we’re traveling on the Bus, I am awestruck by the beauty of the red roads and the lovely views of lush green landscapes. It feeds my soul. But then there’s the ugliness of sick people and the constant not-enough. And that sucks my soul dry.”

Her melancholy tone turned his focus off the page in front of him. “Hey. You doing all right?” he gently inquired.

She let out a long sigh, then replied, “I’ll be fine, I guess.”

Then he had an idea. “You want to see something else magnificent?”

“What?” she said, puzzled.

“Go outside.” Fitz got up, grabbed a mat, and went out into his courtyard. 

“Now?”

“Yea. There’s no light pollution here.” It was a moonless night and the constellations were easy to pick out overhead. “I’m outside.”

“I hope you took your anti-malarial, ” cautioned Jemma.

“Come sit outside with me.” He laid his mat on the concrete stoop and looked up. The Milky Way filled the sky.

“You mean sit outside 96.5 kilometers away from you.”

“If you want to be technical.”

“It _is_ a specialty of mine.” 

He could hear her walking, opening a door and then gasp. He smiled. 

“You were right,” said Jemma. “This was a good idea.” 

“It’s a slightly different sky from where we grew up,” noted Fitz.

“My dad taught me all about the stars,” Jemma reminisced. “I think studying the constellations was what finally bonded us.” 

Fitz didn’t reply. 

“Fitz?” prompted Jemma.

When he still didn’t reply, she said, “You doing all right?” sounding mildly worried. 

He had to say something. “The cosmos did not smile upon me when they gave me a father.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Jemma said. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s fine.” Fitz picked up a pebble and threw it.

“Did he treat you poorly?” 

“He had a temper.” These were undeniable facts and Fitz stated them flatly. “And one day he just didn’t come back. I was ten.” 

“That’s awful,” Jemma empathized. And after a pause, added, “Your mum must be amazing.”

“She’s the best.” Also an undeniable fact. But one that made Fitz feel a little better.

“You should tell her,” suggested Jemma.

“She’d like you.” Fitz played with the corner of his mat as he thought of the many similarities. And differences.

“I’d like to meet her someday,” she said.

 _Why that would mean... Wait, what did that mean? Did she want their friendship to last beyond their VFA service?_ Fitz’s hopes were raised and he looked back up at the stars.

“Then you shall,” he declared.

“We’ll be flush with cash after our term is up.” Jemma reminded him. “I’m sure I’ll be able to afford a trip up North.” In addition to a monthly stipend for basic living expenses while they were overseas, VFA gave their volunteers a lump sum “readjustment allowance” upon completing their service. It amounted to a few thousand pounds.

“And you can show me the important sites of Sheffield,” he said, cautiously optimistic.

“It would be my pleasure.” They sat for a bit longer looking up at the stars, together, yet separate. “Again thanks for your help with my big idea. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 _Same._ “You’d be fine. I’ll email you about the drone. I really think it could work.”

“Thanks, Fitz. Bye for now. It was lovely talking with you as always.”

“And you.” He picked up his mat and turned to head inside.

“One more thing,” added Jemma.

“Yes?”

“Call your mum.” 

Fitz laughed as he closed the door behind him and locked it. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Perfect. Good night, Fitz.”

“Good night, Jemma.”


	11. Chapter 11

Fitz enjoyed recounting his experiences with other math teachers at this VFA Uganda Conference. The other S4 teachers he met shared his frustrations, even though they all seemed to be using different textbooks. Among them, only Fitz had opted out of using it and they were eager to hear his stories. 

Before long, he wanted to bow out so he could catch up with Jemma. They had sat together during the last lecture, but afterward, she had begged off and said she would meet him in their usual spot. 

Periodically, VFA put together these events to help the normally isolated volunteers network, attend seminars, and participate in roundtable discussions. They were often held in nice hotels with most of the comforts of home. The food was wonderful, the lectures stimulating, and the fellow volunteers sympathetic. This particular conference fell during the break between the second and third school terms _and_ fit Jemma’s schedule. Fitz found her on a balcony off one of the main conference rooms leaning against the railing and looking out at the view.

“Jemma!”

“Fitz. There you are,” she said, with a hint of relief. Her face was paler than usual and she bravely gave him a wan smile.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get away sooner.” He handed her a mineral water which she took gratefully. 

They were alone on this particular balcony, although there were other balconies jutting out along the building. Three stories up, Lake Victoria filled most of the vista, the blue expanse of water dotted with fishing boats. Swaying palm branches between them and the ground reminded them of their exotic location, the lake a wide swath of blue above their tops.

“It’s fine,” Jemma replied without energy. “But that last lecture about emotional peaks and valleys hit me hard. I’m definitely in a valley. I’m just weary of the attitudes back on site. People just expect me to help them. All the time.”

“Which you always do.” Fitz leaned his hip against the railing and tried unsuccessfully to catch her eye.

“No thank yous. No appreciation. For instance, a mother came in the day before I left and yelled at me that I made her baby cry while giving a vaccination. Does she not know how much her baby will cry when she comes down with measles or how much she will cry when her baby dies?” She sucked in a breath and tried visibly to calm down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that.”

“You’re venting. I get it. I wish I had been there.”

“Yeah, that would have been nice.” She took a drink of the mineral water and, mirroring him, turned to face him while still resting against the railing. “And remember that guy when you visited a couple weeks ago?”

Fitz tried to visit her on his days off. It wasn’t easy getting there and back in one day and he could only see her for a few hours, but it was worth it. 

On his last visit, he and Jemma had gotten separated briefly at the open air market and one of the vendors announced for all to hear how attractive he thought she was. Fitz had heard it and and had strode over to pointedly remark on the low quality of the goods the vendor was selling before guiding her away. 

“He continues to say things if I get anywhere near him, and it’s just easier to avoid that part of the market now. It makes me feel so... I don’t know... Not safe. Maybe I should get some pepper spray.” 

He had never seen her so grim. “Do you want me go back with you after the conference?” He didn’t really have a plan but the urge to protect her was strong.

“I’ve only seen him at the market,” she explained. “So aggravating.” 

“The very idea,” Fitz grumbled. “I caught one of my students catcalling at the school and I shut it down. Not that it does you any good.” 

“You did?” Jemma finally smiled. “That warms my heart.” She reached out one of her legs and gently bumped his calf with her toe. “And how are your students doing?” Turning from the railing she moved to sit on one of the teak benches facing the water. Fitz took the cue to sit next to her.

“Did I tell you about Ben? He’s one of the instigators during class, but he’s pretty good at taking direction in my impromptu soccer school. It turns out he lost his father to the war. I don’t know if he’ll ever learn math, but maybe just talking to him will help him see that you can survive. But then there’s Marvin. He’s a handful—and the hopefully-reformed catcaller—and he never applies himself. I don’t think he’s going to pass, and I don’t have any sympathy for him. Isn’t that terrible?” 

“There are some students that just aren’t going to listen to you,” Jemma said in support. 

Fitz went on. “I’m a maths guy. I like statistics and so does VFA. They want to know if I reached X amount of youth, or if the passing level increased and by how much.” He held up one hand to indicate an imaginary chart.

“Everybody wants quantifiable results,” Jemma agreed. “But do they know what that one vaccine cost me emotionally? And how can they measure the effect you’re going to have on any one student? You’re still giving Marvin an excellent education and he may wake up to that fact one day.”

Fitz made a huffing noise, but Jemma pressed on. 

“And look how you are going above and beyond with Daisy. And what about Ben and his friends? I think it’s sweet how you coach them in soccer.”

Jemma got up then and, with her back to the view, leaned up against the railing. “I once heard that farmers, doctors, and teachers have the hardest jobs. They all deal with things out of their control. The farmer can plant the seed and nurture it, but some seeds won’t produce. A doctor can prescribe medicine, but if the patient doesn’t _want_ to get better, there’s not much he can do. And you, you can explain things four different ways, but if they don’t _want_ to learn—”

“—they’re not going to learn.” He nodded in agreement and got up to stand next to her.

“You can only coax and coach and cajole so much. It has to come from within them.” She turned around to look out at the water. 

Fitz leaned over to her to as if to speak confidentially, “Even with all of these seminars, I think that is the most useful thing I’ve heard all day.”

Blushing, she hung her head but then lifted it and looked off into the distance. “You and I are up against the same force,” then she turned to face him to finish her thought, “the human will.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, their faces inches apart. Fitz’s eyes flicked briefly to her lips. He was overcome with a strong urge to kiss her, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Should he tell her how much she meant to him? Should he tell her she was the most beautiful soul he had ever met? 

Just then one of the VFA staff in the main conference room announced, “Can I have your attention, please. If you can begin making your way back to your seats, we’ll begin the next session shortly.”

The spell broken, Fitz let out the breath he had been holding and said, “Shall we?”

* * *

Four weeks into the third school term, Daisy discovered HTML, the underlying language for displaying web pages. Fitz realized that Daisy needed him less and less, and he found himself instead chatting with Ben in the common area of the orphanage while Daisy typed away in the background. They talked about life after secondary school, girls that Ben liked, and whether the Ugandan National team had any chance at the World Cup.

Daisy interrupted them, “Mr. Fitz. I made a web page for the school.” 

Fitz came over to look and began to click around on it. “Nice work. Where are you hosting it?” 

She just grinned and he shook his head. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

“You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” he jested. 

Daisy just shrugged and said sweetly, “You know I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

“You’ve done quite enough for today,” he said, closing the laptop. As he packed it up, he smiled to himself. Daisy and Ben were amazing kids, trying their best with what life had dealt them. He was proud of them both.

He waved goodbye and said, “See you in school tomorrow.”

* * *

Six weeks into the third term, Fitz finally made it to a morning staff meeting. It was standing room only in the small staff room, and Mr. Talbot addressed them in the style of a military briefing. “Tomorrow being the day of the yearly assessment, only S4 students need to attend. We’ll be giving O-levels in Math at 8:45, English at 11, Science at 2....” 

Fitz didn’t hear who he was proctoring with or where, or anything else that was said at the meeting. He couldn’t believe it. _It’s tomorrow._

He tried to be upbeat in his classes when he announced the next day’s schedule, but inside he was more nervous than they were, probably. 

After school, walking briskly on the deserted road out of town, he called Jemma without texting as usual. 

Luckily, she picked up right away. “Fitz?”

“It’s tomorrow!” he blurted out.

“ _What’s_ tomorrow?”

“O-levels! I thought it was at the end of term!” He walked as fast as he could, as if his speed could put distance between him and the problem.

“First of all, breathe,” Jemma said evenly. “Stress hormones are not good for you.”

“Well, I’m stressed!” Fitz snapped.

“I know, but are your students ready?” she asked remaining calm.

“I don’t know!” he groaned. “We only just started working on the first practice test. There have been so many delays. First, Mr. Talbot didn’t get back to me with a test, and then the printer had issues. By the time I fixed it and found enough paper and ink... I thought I had more time.”

“Maybe they’ve been reviewing on their own,” she suggested.

“It’s too late.” Fitz wasn’t ready to be hopeful. “Despite my best efforts, I’ve failed them.”

“You’re a good teacher, and all your efforts are not going to be in vain,” Jemma insisted.

“Tomorrow!” he lamented, running his hands through his hair.

“You’re still the best teacher they've ever had,” Jemma encouraged him. “You know that’s true.”

“I _hope_ it’s true. For their sakes.”

She continued, “I’ve heard all the stories of what they’ve been learning. Don’t you think they’ve retained it? I’ll bet they’ve learned things in your class that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.”

“I hope so.” His pace had slowed to normal and he was talking deep, calming breaths.

“You’re an amazing man, Dr. Fitz.”

“I don’t know about _that._ ”

“ _I_ do,” said Jemma. “How’s your heart rate?” 

He stopped and put his finger to his wrist to check his pulse. “Steadily returning to normal thanks to you, Dr. Simmons.”

“Good. I hope it stays that way.” Then in a lighter tone, she added, “To alleviate stress, I prescribe tea and a biscuit.”

Fitz did like the sound of that. Maybe she could join him. “Do you make house calls?”

“Anything to help our patients.”

“I might be coming down with something,” he said, forcing a cough.

She played along. “I hope it isn’t serious. Do you think it’s contagious? If you wait a bit, we might have a drone to make the house call in my stead.”

Fitz started walking back toward town. “Oh, did you apply for the grant?”

“Mack and I were just going over the final wording of the grant proposal. He’s been a big help.”

Fitz stopped in his tracks. “Is he there?” 

“Yes, he says ‘Hi’,” answered Jemma.

He threw his head back in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said solicitously. “I could tell you needed someone to talk to.”

“Yeah, well…I’ll let you get back at it then.” And Fitz needed to process all of his feelings.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Mostly. Thanks,” Fitz answered. 

“Remember, tea and a biscuit,” Jemma urged. “Doctor’s orders!”

“That’s what I’ll do then. Bye,” he said.

“Good bye,” she said. 

He stared at the his phone as if it had betrayed him. Why was Mack suddenly all chummy with Jemma? His more rational side examined the evidence. _They’re working together on a grant proposal for the clinic they both work in._ Working on a project that up until now had been just _him_ and Jemma. Clutching his phone, Fitz moved slowly ahead, staring at the road, pondering. He and Jemma were partners. And now Mack and Jemma were partnering. What if it leads to something more between them? 

_But that’s what **I** want with Jemma._

He cared for her and it went way beyond friendship. Maybe he should’ve said something earlier. But what if she didn’t feel the same way? Wouldn’t that be awkward? Would she still want to be his friend? It was a conundrum that he wrestled with all the way back home.

* * *

After Jemma hung up, Mack smiled and asked, “How long have you two…?” 

They were in the consultation room at the clinic. It was a convenient place to work and the clinic was quiet for the time being. She and Mack sat side by side at a table with the laptop set up between them so they could both see the screen.

“Oh, it’s not like that,” she replied, eyes straight ahead.

Mack was unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

“He’s _just_ a friend. He started out as a boyfriend of convenience because... you know how people can be.”

“Sounds a little more serious than that. Does he know how you feel?” Mack had observed them interact for months. They were constantly finishing each other’s sentences. More than once, he’d caught them staring at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. One time, Jemma made a chocolate banana cream pie and after sharing it with the staff, she’d carefully set aside a piece for Fitz. There was friendship and then there was that.

Jemma turned away to check whether the printer had any paper in it and jabbered away nervously. “I don’t know how I feel. He’s wonderful. You should see how he transformed the S4 maths program in his village. I’m sure the kids are going to be successful and if not, it won’t be from a lack of trying on _his_ part.”

Mack tipped his head to the side and just looked at her.

She stopped fiddling with the printer and returned to her seat. “Who am I kidding? I stopped thinking of him as a fake boyfriend at the last VFA conference.” Their goodbye hug had left her with a longing in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t leave. She’d missed him terribly ever since, and phone contact, while nice, didn’t satisfy anymore.

“You should be honest with him. He doesn’t smile at me the way he smiles at you. I’m just sayin’, I don’t think he’s just acting a part. Do you want me to talk to him and find out for sure?”

“Oh, no! Please don’t.” She wanted to handle it on her own. Jemma was quiet. She frowned, eyes darting back and forth. She didn’t want to upset the comfortable equilibrium she and Fitz had built. Maybe he would run scared if she said something. On the other hand, maybe he was holding back thinking _she_ would run scared, which she definitely wouldn’t. Maybe this equilibrium wasn’t so comfortable after all. Then she sighed in resignation, “You’re right. Does it have to be today?”

“You should tell him soon.”

“I will.” She just didn’t know _how._

“Good. Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s get back to paragraph 3,” said Mack pointing at the screen.

Jemma sighed and slouched back down in her seat. “Why can’t grant proposals write themselves?” 

When they were finished, Jemma composed an email to Fitz. Hopefully, it would distract him from thinking about the test tomorrow. 

From: jsimmons1987@gmail.com  
To: justfitz@gmail.com  
Attachment: dronegrant.pdf

Hi Fitz,

Mack and I finished the grant application. Please find it attached and any feedback you could give us would be greatly appreciated. 

Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’m sure things will go well. I know your methods were far superior to anything they might have gotten from anyone else. 

Thanks again for all your help.

Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Act 2!
> 
> They really are using drones in Africa in the way Jemma wants to use them. You can read about it [here](http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-35810153).


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, while the maths exam was being administered, Fitz sat in the staff room typing up a response to the draft grant proposal Jemma had sent him. He had made little progress, though. Looking up at the clock every few minutes wreaked havoc with his concentration, and he kept staring at the same line over and over.

After what seemed like an eternity, Fitz noticed some of his students starting to exit the classrooms. Casually heading into the hallway, he tried to mask his anxiety and keep his demeanor upbeat when he asked them how it went. 

“Easy” and “basic” were popular answers. A couple of his students used all the possible time, but most were done early. His insides began to loosen. Maybe Jemma was right; only time would tell.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the tests had been submitted for grading, and Glenn Talbot sat in his office in front of the one computer in the school that was connected to the internet. He logged in to the Uganda National Examinations Board website to see if the scores had been posted yet. 

When he saw they were, he hesitated just a bit. Sometimes there were improvements, sometimes scores declined. If they declined badly, he might be out of a job. Steeling himself for the worst and hoping for the best, he clicked on the link for his school.

Scrolling through, he noticed the scores for English and Science had improved markedly with almost everyone being above the national average. 

But what was going on with math? He blinked to see if he was reading it right. The math scores were off the charts! Over half the scores were better than 90%! Last year, none were. He skipped to look at the overall rankings. Within the school, Daisy Johnson ranked number one, with several other kids who also did well in math making up the top ten. 

He clicked on Daisy’s name to see how she ranked within the district and then within the country. One and One. She was the highest ranking in the whole country? Looking at the top 25 students in the country, he discovered two more names from his school on the list. 

Stunned, he printed the results and walked as fast as he could toward Fitz’s classroom. The students stopped their group work when the headmaster entered the room. 

Fitz approached him, concerned. “Is there a problem?”

Talbot motioned him into the hall, not wanting to disturb the students’ work.

“No problem at all,” Mr. Talbot replied, handing him the printout. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite”. 

Fitz wasn’t sure at first what he was looking at. Page one had the scores in maths by student. The sheer volume of D1s—highest distinction—made him smile. Mr. Talbot pointed to the second page which showed the rankings. As Fitz slowly began to understand the implications, he turned wide-eyed to confirm with the headmaster. 

Talbot nodded imperceptibly, “You should tell her. Tell _them._ Go ahead.”

All eyes were on him as he re-entered, and Fitz swallowed before he began, “You should be very proud. I have your O-level results here and they are very good!” 

They all appeared shocked. Few students from a school like theirs were expected to pass each year, much less earn very good marks. A few began whispering to each other excitedly. Some pumped their arms in triumph. 

Fitz cleared his throat to regain their attention. “There’s more. As a matter of fact, one of you in this class has been ranked number one in the country.” A collective gasp went up. “Daisy Johnson, please come to the front.” 

Daisy seemed as stunned and pleased as all the other students. As she walked to the front of the room, the other students applauded. “Are my scores higher than your O-levels Mr. Fitz?”

“No comment,” Fitz joked and the whole class laughed. Mr. Talbot slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well done.” He offered Fitz a solid handshake and took his leave.

Addressing the class once more, Fitz said, “If you want to come up one at a time, I will tell you your score.”

* * *

The next week produced a flurry of activity in the remote village in anticipation of an official visit from the president. Usually the top student lived in or near the capital and went to the State House to receive an honor, but this time President Museveni was the one making the trip. Never had a rural school produced such a high ranking student, with so many others earning multiple distinction marks, and he wanted to see this miraculous school for himself. Only elite prep schools were expected to perform as well. 

Mr. Talbot cancelled classes for the week while the students scrubbed every inch of the school, tidied the grounds, and repaired what was broken. 

The day before the president was to arrive, an advance team of government staff set up a platform, podium, and sound system on the soccer field at the school. And the media began to arrive. Every person of means opened their house as an impromptu bed and breakfast to house all the new arrivals.

Finally, the big day came. The students lined up in their freshly washed uniforms while Glenn Talbot welcomed President Museveni and his entourage and led them on a tour of the school. There were remarks by government officials introduced by lesser dignitaries, culminating in a short speech by the president lauding the school’s achievements. Daisy and Talbot gave media interviews and multiple VIPs wanted a photo-op with the top student in the nation. From Fitz’s government lessons, Daisy knew most of them by name, which impressed them even further. 

Daisy received a new laptop, much to Fitz’s delight. Other high achievers were celebrated too. One got an all expenses paid trip to the capital, Kampala, where he and his family were to be treated to a fancy meal and overnight stay at an expensive hotel. It would be the first time anyone in that family had gone to any big city.

The only person who wasn’t celebrated was Fitz. At the festivities, it was as if he didn’t exist. He clapped along with everyone else in the audience. No one interviewed him. He heard the English and Science teachers remarking to each other on how they couldn’t explain the bump in their respective scores, except that they just had a particularly bright class this year. Mr. Talbot did congratulate him and thanked him for trusting the system the Ministry of Education developed. He tried not to let it bother him. He _was_ grateful that the ones who arguably worked the hardest, his students, were getting recognized. 

The next day, he received a text from Jemma that he should check his email. Fitz had been concerned about her because contact had been spotty for the past week. This sometimes happened when the Bus went on a circuit up in the northern part of Uganda. 

From: jsimmons1987@gmail.com  
To: justfitz@gmail.com

Hi Fitz,

Sorry I’ve been out of touch. We’ve been “on tour” and are incredibly busy. 

First of all, thank you for the feedback on our grant proposal. We expect to hear back next week. 

Secondly, I heard the news coming out of your school! We are all very proud of you, and you must be so pleased. I remember how worried you were, but your students came through with flying colors, especially Daisy! Wow, first in the country! Amazing! 

Thirdly, I wanted to talk about something with you. It’s about this pretend boyfriend situation. I want to run something by you, and wondered if you could call me. 

Jemma

He tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn’t know what to think at first. He could only assume that she didn’t need a fake boyfriend, because she had found a real one. And it was probably Mack. That would make sense. They worked well together, didn’t have to contend with being apart geographically, and he was a great guy. Well, he’d try to be happy for her but it was not going to be easy.

Also, since the hubbub over the historic success of a remote secondary school had died down, Fitz began to have mixed feelings as his time there was coming to an end. What about next year? He would be leaving in a few weeks. What would happen to Daisy? Would she be able to go to a school that would take her to the next level? Help her get to college? What about the potential of all the kids who did well? 

Equally concerning, what about the few kids whom he hadn’t been able to reach? Should he make a detailed report on his teaching methods? Would anybody read it? Would anybody care? He fast forwarded in his mind to five years in the future. Would anything be different? Would he have made an impact? His guess was no. He was used to talking these things out with Jemma, but he still couldn’t get through on the phone. 

Fitz’s motivation to do much of anything fell drastically. There were still almost three more weeks of classes until the end of the term in early December, but with O-levels results out and the accompanying festivities completed, the students had no motivation either. 

He stopped shaving. He didn’t care. 

* * *

One afternoon a few days later, Fitz’s phone buzzed and it was Jemma.

“Hello!” Fitz answered, overjoyed, not quite believing it was her. It had been ages since he’d heard her voice.

“Hi, Fitz.” She sounded down.

He was so happy to finally hear her voice, but felt himself deflate at her tone. “Are you all right? I thought you might have fallen into the black hole that is Northern Uganda.”

“No, our grant was denied,” she said flatly.

“Denied? Why?”

“Who knows? I know there’s money here. You’ve been to the capital.” She was becoming more irate as she explained. “If you know someone in the central government, funding is easy to come by, but when the little guy asks for a few shillings…? NO! Could we here in the rural districts get a few scraps?”

“Can you reapply?” Fitz asked.

“It’s a disaster,” Jemma fumed. “If we don’t get it before I have to leave, they’ll have to start all over again. And we needed it yesterday!”

“Our contracts are almost up,” Fitz stated gravely.

“I just wanted to make a difference.” Jemma’s voice had quieted. “Even a small one.” She started to cry. 

He was about to cry in another minute, too. _Think, Fitz!_ He wracked his brain trying to think of alternatives, anything to help. _Who else has that kind of money?_ Suddenly he had an idea. It was a long shot but it might be a temporary solution.

“Why don’t you start a GoFundMe campaign?” 

Jemma’s snuffling cut off in surprise. “What?” 

“You know, ask for donations online,” he explained. “It might tide you over until you get a grant.”

“That’s a good idea.” 

Relieved that his idea had stemmed her tears, and wanting to lighten the mood, Fitz joked, “I get them from time to time. You could still ask for the amount the grant was for and even if you don’t reach your goal, it might be enough to get started. Email everyone you know and post it on social media. I’m sure people will respond.”

Jemma hummed thoughtfully. “It just might work.” She hiccuped, sniffed, and chuckled. “Things looked so hopeless! I didn’t know where else to turn and you always seem to be able to cheer me up.” 

He couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. “Feeling better?”

“Right as rain, Fitz. Right as rain. Thanks to you. Again. I’m going to get on that right away. I’ve got to go. Bye! Thank you.”

“Bye,” he said, but she had already hung up. 

An hour later Fitz received a form email from Mack announcing the GoFundMe account for the drone project and soliciting him as a friend of VFA. Without hesitation he sent an anonymous donation. _She needs it more than I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of Fitz as a teacher was drawn heavily from [this true life account of a teacher in Mexico with a student much like Daisy](https://thinkmexican.tumblr.com/post/64432570414/paloma-noyola-the-face-of-mexico-unleashed-potential).


	13. Chapter 13

One good thing about the school’s meteoric rise in rankings was the hefty increase in its operating budget. The furniture was being gradually replaced, and Fitz was the first to be granted a teacher’s desk for his classroom. WiFi could now be accessed throughout the building and even in some spots outside. Fitz thought it would be really helpful if they could put electrical outlets in the classrooms, but nobody asked him.

Fitz was sitting at his new desk in the front of his classroom after school, trying to make sure he stayed well ahead of IsleofSkye in MonkeyBusiness. He was procrastinating writing that report on his teaching methods. What good would it do? Looking up, he watched Daisy in the back of the room concentrating on her laptop. He was counting the days, four, until the school year ended, when he heard a knock on the doorframe.

“Jemma! Hey, I didn’t know you were in town.” Fitz stood up, his mouth agape. If he had, he would have chosen a different outfit. He played with his growing stubble self-consciously.

“We got in late and I just—” said Jemma, but then she spotted Daisy and pointed in her direction. “That’s Daisy, right?”

He nodded, unable to think clearly. _Why didn’t she tell me she was coming?_

“Can I talk to her?” she asked quietly.

“Sure. I mean, you can check.” 

Jemma started toward the back of the room while Fitz tried to make himself more presentable. He tucked in his shirt, ran his hand through his hair, and checked himself surreptitiously with the selfie camera on his phone. It wasn’t much, but it was better? At least a little bit?

He was still holding it when his phone chirped twice, and he read two texts from Jemma that had obviously been delayed in the system somewhere. Fitz shook his head in disbelief as he read them: _“The Bus should be there tomorrow afternoon”_ and _“Can we talk?”_

There it was: the dreaded “We have to talk.” But she was here, in the same room as he was, and that was a good thing.

“Excuse, me, Daisy? Am I interrupting anything?” Jemma asked at the back of the room. 

“No, I’m just doing a little experimenting,” said Daisy, turning her head and looking up as she completed some keystrokes.

Jemma extended her hand. “I’m Jemma Simmons. We met a few months ago?” she said taking a seat at a nearby desk.

“Yes, I remember you,” said Daisy, shaking Jemma’s hand and smiling and nodding. 

“I’ve been hearing about all your accomplishments from Fi—, Mr. Fitz. Congratulations on getting the top spot.”

“Thanks!” Daisy sat a little straighter and widened her smile. She seemed to revel in the attention.

“What are your plans for next year?” asked Jemma.

“A couple of places have offered scholarships, but I don’t know... Two more years of secondary school? I’m ready to be done,” said Daisy, casting her eyes back on the screen and clicking a couple of keys. “What I really want to do is hack into the game servers and beat Mr. Fitz’s score.” She had a gleeful look in her eye as she sat back and glanced over at Fitz.

Fitz spoke up from the other side of the room, “I heard that. What did we discuss about black hat vs. white hat hackers?”

“I was joking Mr. Fitz. I’m going to beat you fair and square.”

“You go ahead and do that.” Fitz got up and headed over toward them. With feigned exaggerated outrage that was clearly for Daisy’s benefit, he said, “I don’t know what to do with her. She’s always up to something.” He was trying to keep his mind off the anxiety that he felt at the prospect of finally discussing whatever it was Jemma came to discuss.

Jemma met Fitz halfway down the aisle and turning to Daisy, said, “Well, good luck with everything, Daisy. I know, whatever you decide to do, you’ll be exceptional.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Simmons,” said Daisy as she gave a little wave.

“That’s Dr. Simmons to you, Daisy,” Fitz said as he started to escort Jemma out of his classroom.

“That’s okay, Fitz,” said Jemma.

Once they were outside of the room, he turned to her with an apologetic expression. “I only _just_ got your texts!” explained Fitz causing Jemma to roll her eyes. 

The hallway was lit only by the late afternoon light coming from the classroom. The quiet half-darkness was the best they could do for confidentiality.

Jemma turned her back on him initially and took a deep breath. When she turned around, she let it out as she spoke rapidly, “First, I want to thank you for what you did for Daisy, despite her current obsession.” She crossed her arms and glanced briefly back into the classroom.

“I’d do the same for any of them.” Fitz leaned his back against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “I do worry about her sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“What happens next year?” His head hit the wall as he looked up, a worried look passing over his face.

“She should do her A-levels and go to college,” Jemma said without much confidence.

“She could,” Fitz turned to Jemma and looked into her eyes, “but she doesn’t want to do that.” Fitz had to break eye contact when he saw her pleading look.

“Can’t you convince her?” Jemma argued. “She can’t make a career out of hacking, can she?” 

“I tried,” Fitz said, frustrated. “I can’t do much more.” Taking one hand out of his pocket and running it through his hair. While it was really great to see Jemma again, he didn’t want to argue with her and this couldn’t possibly be what she wanted to talk to him about. He let his hand fall to his side and looked at his shoes.

“Of course,” Jemma said taking a tentative step closer.

An awkward silence fell between them. He wondered if he should break it or wait for her. Should he bring up the thing she wanted to ask him? Should he ask her how the fundraising was going?

Jemma broke the silence, her voice softening a little. “You don’t know what it means to me, for you to give her the opportunities she had. She was lucky to have you as her teacher.” She reached over and squeezed his hand to emphasize her point. Her touch set his skin on fire and when she released his hand, he just craved more contact.

He didn’t want to keep himself in suspense anymore, so Fitz cut right to the chase.

“So you found yourself a real boyfriend?” He still couldn’t look at her but did raise his head enough to look at the wall behind her.

Jemma, shocked by his forthrightness, hesitated, “S-Sort of.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?” 

She seemed really uncomfortable and out of the corner of his eye he could see her twist back and forth. “We’re friends right? No matter what happens?”

“Yes, of course.” She could tell him anything. No matter how painful it may be to hear.

“Because I wouldn’t want to lose your friendship.” _And that was painful._

“Listen, I’m sure he’s a great guy.” He tried unsuccessfully to keep the edge off his voice. _Let’s just rip the band-aid off and get it over with._

Jemma fidgeted with the corner of her lab coat, twisting it this way and that. She tapped the toe of one of her shoes behind the other ankle, but she still wasn’t saying what she’d come here to say. 

_Back off, Fitz. It’s better this way, to part ways gracefully._ He was glad to play a small role in helping keep her safe. He’ll go back to Scotland, celebrate Christmas with his mum, and take some time off. He supposed Jemma meeting his mum probably wasn’t going to happen. In the meantime, he would throw himself into writing that teacher report, supervising Daisy more, and spending time with Joseph and Ben.

Finally, Jemma responded. “He’s a lot like you. Actually.”

“Grumpy?” he joked a little bitterly. Mack could grumble, but Fitz understood. “Let me give you a little brotherly advice, as your best friend.” He tried to relax, bending his knee and resting his foot on the wall behind him. His eyes darted around at the floor, the wall, the ceiling, anything except her face. “If he seems upset, remember, it’s not with _you._ Sometimes, we just want to fix things and the world is….” He voice trailed off.

“...broken?” Jemma finished. 

He just nodded, looking at the floor. 

She took a couple of deep breaths and then continued, “So you’re like my brother now?” She looked down the hall the way she had come. Her voice sounded different, but he couldn’t pinpoint how.

“Sure.” He shrugged. _Why not? That’s as close as I’m ever going to get._

“Okay,” Jemma chirped, facing her body toward the exit. She took another deep breath and set her shoulders back with determination. “Well, I should get back to the Bus.”

“All right. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Fitz stepped away from the wall, his hands behind his back. If she had any time for him now that she’d found a real boyfriend.

“Bye, Fitz.” Jemma began walking away and halfway down the hall, she started jogging. 

Fitz, miserable, watched her go and suddenly realized he may never see her again. Why did he let her walk away without a hug? _I am such an idiot._

He popped his head back into his classroom and cleared his throat to get Daisy’s attention. When she looked up, he asked, “Daisy? Can you work offline?”

“Sure Mr. Fitz,” she replied. “I’m just trying to get this hash function working.”

Fitz tipped his head in her general direction. “You’re not using it to hack in anywhere are you?”

“It’s for educational use only,” she demurred, as she closed up her laptop.

* * *

Fitz, his backpack slung on one shoulder, found the Bus parked in its usual spot. Mack had the hood open and was poking about the engine. “Where’s Jemma?” Fitz asked hurriedly.

“Hi, Fitz. Jemma went to see Andrew to see if we could stay the night. This was an unscheduled stop, but Jemma really wanted to make it happen.” Mack stepped away from the engine wiping his hands on a rag.

Fitz stopped. _Probably just wanted to say goodbye. I sure mucked that up._

“Plus Elena wanted to see the monkey,” Mack added. 

“Elena?” Fitz asked.

“She’ll take over for Jemma when her term is up.” Mack got out his phone and showed Fitz a picture of her, a latina with long black hair and sparkling eyes. “She’s a firecracker, quick learner, and quick witted. But she still has a soft spot in her heart for a big lumbering guy like me.” Mack shook his head. Fitz couldn’t tell. Was the big guy blushing?

“How are you and Jemma?” asked Mack. “You must be happy together.”

Fitz relaxed slightly. _So it’s not Mack._ But he was still confused. “We’re just friends.” 

It was Mack’s turn to be confused. “I thought you and she…” Mack pointed at Fitz and then vaguely in the direction of the orphanage.

“That was for appearances,” Fitz said, one hand on his hip. “I agreed to pose as her boyfriend, but we’re strictly friends.”

Mack still looked confused, but didn’t pursue it. “Oh, I just assumed,” he said, then changed the subject. “You still planning that trip? To see monkeys in the wild?” 

Fitz never did get out to see them; after buying extra data access for his phone, he’d had just enough money left for one more trip. 

“No,” said Fitz, scratching the back of his neck. “I cancelled it. Found a better use for the balance of my savings account.”

“Oh?” probed Mack, narrowing his eyes. “It wouldn’t be a hastily arranged GoFundMe project would it?”

Fitz met his gaze and nodded. “It was an anonymous gift.”

Mack raised his eyebrows. “We only had one anonymous gift.”

“Guess it’s not so anonymous anymore,” he sighed and set the backpack on the ground.

Mack put his huge hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Hey, man, are you sure you don’t think of her as more than just a friend?”

Fitz looked at the Bus. “The project meant a lot to her, and I wanted her to be happy.” He shrugged and Mack took his hand off Fitz’s shoulder. “Besides, how I feel about her doesn’t matter because she’s found someone else.” Picking up his backpack and making a hasty retreat, Fitz said, “I’ll come back later to say a proper goodbye.”

Mack called after him, “I’ll let her know to expect you.”

Moments later, Jemma, returning from the orphanage with Elena, mused aloud, “Fernando was cute, wasn’t he? I’ll bet Fitz will miss that little guy.”

Mack heard Jemma’s voice and, not taking his eyes off the part of the engine he was working on, yelled out to her, “Oh, Fitz came by looking for you.”

“He did?” replied Jemma.

Mack replaced the cap of the coolant reservoir, released the support rod, and let the hood fall. “And I found out the source of that anonymous donation. Guess who?”

Jemma protested, “He doesn’t have that much money!”

Mack went on, “Guess it was his entire savings.”

“Why would he do that?” Jemma knew it was a sizeable sacrifice.

“He probably thought it was worth it.” Mack cocked his head to the side and gave her a significant look.

Jemma wasn’t convinced and pointed to the school, “I just talked to him and I’m afraid he doesn’t feel like that about me. He _told_ me he sees me as a sister.”

Mack looked over at Elena for support.

Elena took Jemma’s hand and said “In our faith, there is a verse: ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’ Go to him.”

Jemma, her face pained, looked to from Elena to Mack, “Are you sure?” 

Mack encouraged her, “Have faith.”

Jemma straightened and found resolve in Mack’s words. “I’ve got to find him. Where is he?” 

“He went down that hill.” Mack pointed the way. “But he said he’d be back.”

Just then Daisy appeared and addressed the three of them, “Andrew said, not only can you stay, but you are all invited to dinner.” 

Jemma rushed over to her. “Daisy, do you know where Mr. Fitz is?”

Daisy, not knowing what the fuss was, crinkled her brow, and answered haltingly, “I— I was just going to see—”

Jemma interrupted, “I’ll go with you.” She followed Daisy as they headed down the hill explaining rapidly, “I have been there before. Once. I’m just not sure I could find it again. It’s so nice of you to show me the way. I just needed to talk to him, you know, about science stuff and...things.”

* * *

Fitz sat staring forlornly at the drone on his bed. He really should wrap it up and prepare it for shipping. Maybe he should donate it. It would always remind him of her. 

Just then he heard a knock on his door and he opened it. There were Jemma and Daisy.

Daisy said, “Andrew has invited you to dinner. The medical bus people are staying with us tonight, and he thought you might enjoy it, too.”

Normally, he would jump at the chance to spend more time with Jemma, but he didn’t think he was up for pretending to be a “just a friend” all evening.

“Ok. Tell him ‘thanks.’ I’ll think about it,” said Fitz. 

“Ok, Mr. Fitz.” said Daisy, making her way out of the courtyard. “I’ll tell him. See you later, Dr. Simmons.”

“Call me Jemma.” 

When Daisy had gone past the wall of the courtyard, Jemma ventured, “You are coming to dinner, right?”

Fitz staring at the opening of the wall where Daisy had disappeared, replied, “Not too hungry.” Then added hastily, “Listen, I’m sorry about not giving you a proper goodbye.” He walked out of the doorway and moved past her in the direction Daisy had just gone. 

“Goodbye?” asked Jemma, taking a single step to follow him.

Fitz turned around and offered her his hand to shake.

She held her hands up to avoid taking it. “I don’t want it to be goodbye!” 

Fitz kept his hand out and insisted, “Well, I don’t think I can make dinner, and we might not see each other again.”

“But I _want_ to see you again.” 

Did she want him to meet the new guy? Did he work at the clinic?

“I just don’t think I can get away,” he said gesturing back to his house. “I’m really behind on my report. Always more to do.”

“But look at all you’ve done! Daisy: number one in the country!” Jemma exclaimed with a bit more volume than he expected.

“I couldn’t reach everyone.”

“You reached _me!”_ she pleaded, earnestly. With tears in her eyes, she practically shouted at him, “You emptied your bank account for me!”

“Of course I did! I love you!” he blurted out. There it was. Out in the open. 

Shock registered on her face as she whispered, “You do.” But then it changed to radiant joy, and it was her turn to blurt out a truth long hidden. “I hoped for so long— I tried to— Can we be more than friends?” 

The idea that he should kiss her was enough to push him over the edge and his lips were on hers before he even knew what he was doing. The force of his spontaneous act walked them both back a step until her back was up against outside wall of his house. He kept one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, restraining himself from completely engulfing her. He pulled away hoping he didn’t overwhelm her. 

Then she was kissing him back, sweetly, slowly, her hands at the back of his neck, drawing him closer. Her fingers slid over his stubble, a vestige of what might have been the worst week of his life.

“I wanted to be honest with you, but if you didn’t feel the same…” Jemma began, after she broke the kiss, her voice raw and husky. She turned her face up to look at his. “And when you said you were like my brother—”

_Was this really happening?_ “All this time…” Fitz’s voice failed him and it came out a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma said quietly.

“Sorry?” said Fitz, shaking his head. “I could’ve said something, but...” 

“...you didn’t want it to be awkward between us,” she finished for him. They both chuckled at how ridiculous they had been.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” he said, gazing at her steadily.

“I’m happy now,” she said bouncing up and down on her toes. 

Reveling in the idea that he made anyone happy, he enveloped her in his arms like he’d always dreamed of doing and she seemed to melt into him. _I can hardly believe it._ He released his hold on her to stare at her in wonder and she beamed back in return. A puzzled look appeared on his face. “How did you know about the donation? It was anonymous.”

“Mack told me.”

He knew how much a drone like the one the clinic was trying to get cost. “It’s a drop in the bucket.” His hands fell to his sides, but otherwise they remained close.

She took both his hands in hers as she explained, “It was _very_ generous! I’m sure it was your early donation that spurred others to give and we’ve already raised enough money to order our first drone!”

It was the second piece of good news today. He could get used to this. “Really?”

“We made a difference, Fitz. Lives will be saved! We did it. Together.”

“Don’t forget the hundreds of other lives you’ve touched at the clinic and with the Bus,” Fitz gently reminded her.

“And you’ve been a brilliant teacher. You know what you taught _me?”_ She placed her palm in the middle of his chest. “The most important things come from the heart. Everything you do starts here. You’re the most open, loyal, caring person I’ve ever met and that’s why I fell in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” He reached up with one hand to take her hand from his chest. 

She smiled broadly, and hummed an assent. “I thought I’d made that clear.”

Fitz brought his head down and his forehead met hers. Then he circled his free arm around her waist and brought his face ever closer to her until their lips met. Tentatively at first, he kissed her. When she responded eagerly, he deepened the kiss.

Meanwhile Daisy, remembering how she wanted to tell Mr. Fitz how well her hash function was working with a longer prime number, had circled back to his house and had heard him and his doctor friend from the Bus talking in hushed tones. Not wanting to interrupt, she waited just out of sight. When it sounded like they were arguing her curiosity was piqued. But it was silence that made her slowly creep up to the entrance to the courtyard to investigate. She peeked around the corner just in time to see the two of them kissing. Letting out a squeak, she quickly hid herself smiling broadly.

Fitz heard the squeak, broke the kiss, and said, “I think we have company.” 

Jemma giggled as she followed Fitz to investigate. They both stepped out into the street to see Daisy running up the hill.

* * *

When Jemma and Fitz arrived at the orphanage together, hand in hand, Mack slapped Fitz on the shoulder. “I _knew_ there was something going on between you two!”

It was a simple meal of cassava root and beans amid the chaos of children, Fernando the monkey, and the laughter of good friends. Normally, Fitz would have preferred to eat quietly in front of his laptop, maybe catching up on the science and technology news of the day. But he was enjoying himself immensely feeling free and at ease. Daisy had joined them at the end of the meal, everyone curious as to what her future plans were. She told them she was intrigued with cybersecurity and was hoping to learn enough to work in the field as soon as possible.

“I just hope she doesn’t break into a government network and cause an international incident,” Fitz teased.

“Ah, that’s an idea,” Daisy said in jest. “I’ll do that right after I recapture the lead in MonkeyBusiness.”

“She thinks she’s going to take away my lead,” said Fitz ostensibly to Jemma, but so everyone could hear.

Jemma replied playfully, “She might.”

“I get no respect,” Fitz groused, but there was no heat to it.

“Sad, isn’t it?” joked Jemma, warmth and affection in her voice.

“The worst.” Even as the words left his mouth, a smile blossomed across his face. He didn’t think it would ever leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another source that inspired me when writing this fic was [Kisses From Katie](https://amazima.org/about-us/katies-story/).
> 
> Next up is just a short epilogue!


	14. Epilogue

Fitz woke up very early in the morning, much earlier than normal. But this was not a normal morning; it was his last morning in Uganda. He was only a few hours from boarding a plane for home, and he had important plans before breakfast. Knocking softly at Jemma’s door, Fitz listened for sounds of activity within.

After only a few seconds, she opened the door, her eyes bright with anticipation, and said, “Ready?”

“Yep. Let’s go,” Fitz replied. Hand in hand, they made their way down the stairs, through the deserted hotel lobby, and out to the patio restaurant where they had shared a lovely candlelight dinner the night before.

The stars faded as the faint light of dawn hit the waters of Lake Victoria. Walking past the pool on their way to the beach, Fitz thought of the future.

Evidently, Jemma was too. “We should open a lab,” she said.

Fitz brought up the obvious, “Um, funding?”

“I’m not a business genius,” Jemma replied, stepping off the patio and onto the grass.

“Neither am I.”

“Can’t you innovate something?” They stopped at the head of a sandy trail that cut through the grass and led to the beach.

“I can’t just come up with something out of thin air. I need to be inspired.”

She turned to look up at him. “I’ll inspire you.”

He gazed into her eyes and said, truthfully, “You do. Every day.”

“Everything’s going to work out then.” She dropped his hand and darted down the trail and onto the beach with Fitz close behind.

They stood on the white sand side by side looking out over the water. Fitz said, “Are you ready to leave?”

“I’m ready,” Jemma replied immediately. Then she paused, gathered her thoughts, and continued, “Uganda stretched me more than I thought possible, but I _did_ want to grow. Because of our partnership we’re leaving a legacy.” Looping her arm through his, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I also gained a new perspective: It’s about building relationships, loving people, and then, maybe making changes, even if they seem small.”

Fitz pulled her into a side hug. “Relationships are the best kind of change.”

Jemma laughed softly. Just then sharp rays of light burst over the low hill beyond the water. “There’s the sun,” she breathed.

Fitz watched the bright orange disk grow as it painted a long stripe of the same color onto the rippling surface of the lake. Even more beautiful to him was the sight of Jemma enjoying the sunrise by his side. Smiling, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply and contentedly. He stared at her unabashedly waiting for her to open her eyes again. He caught a glimpse of the sunrise reflected in them and turning his body to face her, he drew her ever closer until his lips met hers.

It might be their last sunrise in Uganda, but it was the first one of the rest of their lives.

* * *

After landing in Amsterdam to catch their connecting flight to London, Fitz and Jemma walked briskly through the terminal to their next gate. On their way, they noticed a man wearing sunglasses holding two handwritten signs. One had her name and the other had his, as if some VIP had sent his personal assistant to whisk them away to a business lunch. They exchanged skeptical glances with each other and continued walking, pulling their luggage behind them. However, the man holding the signs intercepted them, took off his sunglasses, and offered his hand to Fitz. He was dressed in a well-tailored business suit. They both thought he seemed safe enough in this very public space, and silently communicated as much to the other.

Fitz took his hand as the man introduced himself, “Phil Coulson. You must be Dr. Leopold Fitz.” Phil Coulson extended his hand to Jemma as well. “And Dr. Jemma Simmons. Very pleased to meet you both. I’m here to offer you a job with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

He began walking down the terminal toward their next gate. “I’ll only take a few moments of your time.” Fitz shrugged at Jemma as they followed Mr. Coulson to a small seating area with relatively few people.

Once they were settled, Mr. Coulson explained, “We’ve been watching you. Your work in Uganda has not gone unnoticed. I’d like you to join my team as science officers in an elite government agency. You’d be serving your country and the world by helping keep it safe. But I’ll be honest, it’s not going to be easy. You might be sleep deprived, uncomfortable at times, and due to the confidential nature of our work, it can be a thankless job. But it’s significant work, important for the security of the world.”

Jemma was still skeptical. “Is it military?”

Fitz rubbed his jaw. Jemma liked his scruffy look so he didn’t shave it completely, although it was better trimmed than it had been.

“It’s a large peacekeeping agency with a budget to match,” said Phil Coulson. “You’ll have a fully-stocked lab, customized to your specifications.”

Jemma sat up even straighter. “Did you say a fully-stocked lab?” She flicked Fitz’s arm with the back of her hand. “Fitz, our own lab!”

Fitz perked up as well, “With power 24/7?”

“Of course,” replied Mr. Coulson, nodding.

Fitz leaned over and quietly remarked to Jemma, “Living in the lap of luxury, that is.”

She agreed, “Ultra posh.”

“Can we…?” Jemma pointed to an open area a few steps away.

“Certainly,” said Mr. Coulson.

Fitz and Jemma stood up and walked a few paces away to confer.

Fitz, one arm crossed over his body holding the opposite elbow, the fingers of his free hand tapping his chin, started, “I’d like to go home and see mum first, of course.”

“I’m sure that can be negotiated. We don’t have any other prospects,” said Jemma, both arms crossed in front of her.

“We can’t just take the first thing that comes along,” Fitz said, moving one hand to his hip. “I’ve never even heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“I think it’s like the Security Service but for the world.” Jemma took his forearm and looked him in the eye. “We’d be together.”

"I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He glanced up, weighing different factors. “No start-up costs. That’s a plus.”

“I think we should say that we’re interested,” concluded Jemma.

“Yeah, definitely interested.” 

When they returned and announced their decision, Phil Coulson said, “Good. The only thing we lack is a computer specialist with knowledge of cryptography and cybersecurity. It’s hard finding people who will just drop everything to come with us. Know anyone?”

With one voice, Fitz and Jemma both exclaimed, “Daisy!”

“She is 18 now and legally able to decide her own destiny. Glenn Talbot and Andrew Garner agree she is an excellent choice,” said Phil, tapping a few times on his phone.

Wide eyed, they stared at him.

“What?” Phil countered. “They liked you, too! You both came highly recommended to be technology officers assisting agents in the field. You might be helping protect agents’ lives one day and safeguarding the peace and security of the world the next.” He pocketed his phone and retrieved his sunglasses in one smooth move. “Orientation begins in mid-January if you’re still interested. We’ll be in touch.” He shook hands with each of them once again, put his glasses on and then he was gone.

* * *

One month later, a newly minted Agent Fitz found himself arranging a few mementos in his assigned bunk in a specially outfitted transport aircraft. Suddenly his door flew open and there was Agent Coulson, a concerned look on his face, “Nobody told me she had a monkey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thanks for joining me on this international journey! 
> 
> Finally, there are two more links I wanted to share. One is this documentary called [Posh Corps.](https://www.poshcorps.com/film/) The other is [Putting On My Big Boots](https://puttingmybigbootson.wordpress.com/about/), a blog of someone who, as of this posting, is currently volunteering in East Africa!


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